To My Daughter Melanie (July 2026)

 03/07 Chapter 573: You & Me Together Forever And Ever

Tonight we went to a surprise party celebrating Rosane and Cláudio's thirtieth wedding anniversary. It had all been organized by Cláudio's cousins and their children. We were supposed to arrive at 7:30, but we intentionally ended up running a little late. The idea was to make sure they arrived before we did so we wouldn't accidentally ruin the surprise by walking in at the same time. In the end, everything worked out perfectly, although we missed the best part—the look on Aunt Rosane's face when everyone surprised her. Cláudio's reaction, if I'm being honest, wasn't nearly as important. We were there for Rosane, and everyone knew it.

The party was at an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet. Ironically, I had taken you out for pizza the night before at our favorite little place, so this made two pizza dinners in a row. Not exactly a problem if you ask me—I love pizza. At first I was starving because the buffet staff kept serving the guests sitting outside before bringing anything into the room where we were seated. For a while we survived on tiny slices that slowly made their way to our table. Eventually my hunger disappeared, and to my surprise you ate really well too. You're becoming more and more of a pizza lover.

Even though my weight has stayed the same, I've started worrying about my eating habits. Ever since we moved into Grandma and Grandpa's house, my diet has been far from healthy. I know the scale hasn't changed yet, but I also know that's not how the body works forever. Eventually all those pizzas, desserts, and little indulgences catch up with you somewhere.

At one point during the evening I sat near Cláudio's relatives, including one of his cousins. Everyone calls him Caique, even though his real name is Carlos Eduardo. I still don't understand how someone ends up with a nickname that's an entirely different first name, but apparently everyone accepts it without question.

I already knew who he was. Years ago, when I was planning to build a house in my parents' condominium, he was supposed to be the architect. The project never happened, so neither did any real friendship between us. As far as I remembered, he was married anyway, so I had never given him a second thought.

Somehow my name came up in conversation, and before I knew it everyone was introducing us with those knowing smiles people get whenever they decide two single adults belong together. Someone casually mentioned that he'd divorced—for the second time—and I immediately joked that he was basically Ross Geller from Friends. If there was going to be awkwardness, I figured humor was the best way to deal with it. Then, naturally, they announced that I was single too.

I couldn't help laughing. It amazes me how many people seem convinced that happiness only exists if you have a romantic partner beside you. I can be many things, but lonely isn't one of them. I'm happy. My life is good. I love the idea of having my own home, decorating it exactly the way I want, making my own decisions, living under a roof where I'm not constantly being criticized or told what to do. Add to that the fact that I already live with the love of my life—you—and I genuinely feel complete. I don't have this empty space waiting for someone else to fill it. Yet people seem determined to believe that nobody can possibly be happy on their own. I find that incredibly frustrating.

I joked that I wanted to stay as far away from anyone named Caique as possible, that I'd had more than enough of that name for one lifetime and didn't need another one anywhere near me. That's when everyone laughed and reminded me that his name wasn't actually Caique after all—it was Carlos Eduardo. Somewhere in the middle of all the teasing, someone whispered that he was interested in a single mother with twin daughters. I laughed again and said that was the strongest evidence yet that he wasn't thinking straight. Raising one child is already a huge responsibility. Taking on twins? That's an entirely different level.

Ironically, I ended up arguing against my own interests. The truth is that I do think dating becomes more complicated when someone already has children. Most people dream of building a family from the beginning, having children together, sharing all those first experiences as a couple. That's simply reality, whether people like admitting it or not. Dating someone without children is usually easier than dating someone who already has them. The opposite is true as well. If a woman falls in love with a man who already has children, she's also stepping into a life that comes with history, responsibilities, and another parent who will always remain part of that picture. That's just how life works.

And honestly...

I've made peace with the idea that, for a very long time—maybe forever—it might just be you and me.

I'm perfectly okay with that.

After eating far too many little desserts and once again wondering where all that sugar would eventually end up, we headed home. I tucked you into bed, and just as I was getting ready to sleep, my phone buzzed. It was Carlos Eduardo. I have no idea how he got my number—maybe he still had it saved from 2022, back when we were talking about designing the house—but he sent me a message saying he'd felt a little awkward after all the teasing and wanted to apologize.

I told him it was completely fine and joked that I was already used to the craziness of that family. We exchanged a few more messages, but when I noticed it was already after two in the morning, I simply put my phone on airplane mode and went to sleep without saying goodbye. That's one of my little habits. I don't really say goodbye on WhatsApp. To me it's just a tool for answering people whenever I have the time, not a conversation that has to begin and end formally.

So, if life turns out to be just you and me...

Honestly?

That sounds more than enough.

 04/07 Chapter 574: Get Out Of My Way

Today I finally got around to replying to the rest of Carlos Eduardo's messages. I'm calling him Carlos Eduardo from now on because that's actually his name, and honestly, I still don't know why everyone insists on calling him Caique.

I'm not much of a texter, but somehow we ended up talking quite a bit. Still, after a while I decided to put an end to the conversation. There were several reasons. First, just as people often unfairly see single mothers as a "red flag," I also think it's reasonable to pay attention when someone is only forty-three years old and already has two divorces behind him. That doesn't automatically make someone a bad person, of course, but it does make me curious about what happened. It's something I notice.

Second, his twelve-year marriage had ended only two months earlier, and he already seemed to be looking for another relationship. That felt incredibly fast to me. Everyone heals differently, but for me, that's another warning sign. Then came the part that made me even more uncomfortable. He kept saying how becoming a father had always been his dream, but that it probably wasn't going to happen anymore. Several times he mentioned that he would happily love a single mother's child as if the child were his own. On paper, that sounds kind and generous. But he repeated it so many times that it became obvious he was indirectly talking about you.

I couldn't help wondering why he was so specifically focused on a woman who already had children. Why keep bringing that up over and over? Why not simply meet someone, fall in love naturally, and let life unfold however it's meant to? The repetition made me uncomfortable.

Besides, I've already told you many times that I don't want another relationship. With our move to the United States becoming more and more likely, I'd be out of my mind to start building something with someone I may soon leave behind. But the biggest reason has nothing to do with immigration. It has everything to do with you.

No matter what happens in my life, I will never, under any circumstances, invite a man to live under the same roof as my little girl. My own experiences have shaped that decision, and they always will. I'd much rather spend the rest of my life single—and I'm genuinely at peace with that—than take even the smallest unnecessary risk where your safety is concerned. It's not because I believe every man is dangerous. It's because I know that some are. As your mother, I don't get a second chance if I make the wrong decision.

Besides, no stepfather could ever replace the love your dad has for you. The same goes for stepmothers. Your father and I may no longer be together, but one thing has never changed: you are deeply loved by both sides of your family. You have a father who adores you, grandparents who adore you, and a mother who would move mountains for you. That kind of love is already bigger than most people are lucky enough to have.

Then came the conversation that completely confirmed my decision. We were talking about why his marriage had ended when he suddenly sent me a voice message explaining details about his sex life with his ex-wife. He said one of the reasons their relationship had failed was because she no longer wanted to have sex as often, then added that sex makes up ninety percent of a relationship.

That was enough for me.

I'm not judging anyone for believing intimacy is important. It absolutely is. Sex can be a beautiful, healthy part of a loving relationship. But when someone you've barely met starts talking about their sex life in that much detail—and that early—it tells me we see the world very differently. At that point, I quietly ended the conversation.

All I want is peace. Whenever I have the opportunity to make myself seem completely uninteresting to a man who's attracted to me, I'll probably take it. A few weeks ago, Tayna told me one of her friends was interested in me too. I laughed, took a picture of my embarrassingly overgrown toenails, and told her to send it to him so he'd lose interest immediately. That's probably the kind of thing I'll keep doing, because I truly don't want anyone. Is it really that hard for people to understand? Not every woman is searching for a relationship. Some of us are genuinely happy exactly where we are.

And if there's one thing I hope you remember when you're older, it's this: there's nothing wrong with sex. It's a beautiful, healthy part of a loving relationship. But pay attention to balance. If someone seems obsessed with it, if everything keeps circling back to it, or if it dominates the way they relate to other people, don't ignore that feeling in your stomach. It doesn't automatically mean something is wrong, but it is a warning sign worth paying attention to. Trust your instincts. They've protected women for far longer than we realize.

One last note before I forget: Brazil was eliminated from the World Cup today after losing 2–1 to Norway in the Round of 16. The most frustrating part? All three goals came late in the second half, making the ending even more painful for Brazilian fans. As if that weren't enough, I'm taking part in a World Cup prediction pool through an app, and my very first instinct was to predict exactly 2–1 for Norway. Based on the football both teams had been playing, it genuinely felt like the most likely result. But at the last second I lost my nerve, flipped the score, and submitted 2–1 for Brazil instead. I was one tiny decision away from getting it exactly right. That one stings almost as much as the defeat itself. Sometimes your first instinct really is the one you should trust.

 06/07 Chapter 575: The Strenght To Face Tomorrow

Yesterday you fell asleep on the couch, and strangely enough, I was relieved. Even though I spent part of the day watching the World Cup matches, I wasn't really present. I felt... off. My whole body felt heavy, almost as if my muscles had turned to jelly. I had no energy to do anything. I stayed lying down most of the day, yet somehow I still felt exhausted.

I've come to recognize these days. They're the days when my depression quietly comes knocking on the door again.

One of the biggest misconceptions about depression is that people think it's just sadness. It's not. Sometimes it's fatigue so deep you can't explain it. It's feeling physically heavy, drained, unmotivated, as though someone quietly unplugged all your energy overnight. On days like these, I feel like a sack of potatoes. My body works, but every movement feels like it takes twice as much effort as it should.

The medication has been working remarkably well when it comes to the sadness. That part has improved tremendously. But the exhaustion... the lack of motivation... that's another story. Those symptoms started creeping back during the World Cup match, and today wasn't any different. I feel tired without having done anything. I wake up exhausted. I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to move. It's an awful feeling.

The hardest part is that I don't have the luxury of simply disappearing under the blankets. I have a little girl who's almost four years old. I want the energy to play with you, to chase you around the house, to build pillow forts, to laugh with you, to simply be present. I also have a business to run, renovations to supervise, responsibilities that don't pause just because my brain decides today is one of those days. Life keeps moving, even when my body feels like it can't.

I'm already taking what would generally be considered a fairly high dose of antidepressants, so part of me wonders whether it's time to change medications. I honestly don't know.

For now, though, I'm going to start with the simplest thing I can control. I'm going to take both my antidepressant and my ADHD medication exactly as prescribed, at the same time every day, without skipping doses or getting careless. Sometimes consistency makes more of a difference than we realize.

We'll see what the next few days bring.

 07/07 Chapter 576: A Place Full Of Strangers

Today I still feel like a sack of potatoes. My energy hasn't come back, and it's honestly frustrating. Fortunately, since we were taking two cars to the beach house, Grandma offered to drive ours. For the first time in a long while, I spent the entire trip in the passenger seat, something I'm not used to because I'm almost always the one driving. Today, though, I was incredibly grateful not to have to. Driving while feeling this exhausted, weak, and mentally drained simply isn't safe.

Grandpa drove ahead in his car while we followed behind. I wasn't really in the mood to talk much. Grandma, on the other hand, could hold a conversation for hours. Every now and then I'd join in, but most of the time I just sat quietly looking out the window. I think both of them have started realizing that I'm not doing very well. It's becoming harder to hide. The exhaustion shows.

You, on the other hand, fell asleep almost as soon as we got on the road. It wasn't a long nap—maybe 40 or 50 minutes—but it was enough to recharge you before we reached the restaurant where we always stop for lunch.

Grandpa discovered this place years ago after spending so much time in Juquehy. One day he decided to stop there on a whim, ended up loving the food, and ever since then it's become one of our regular stops whenever we're heading to the beach. It's a surprisingly complete buffet, especially considering it only costs R$39 per person now. The first time Grandpa ate there, it was only R$29. 

Because of my ADHD medication, my appetite has almost disappeared. I forced myself to eat something anyway, even though I wasn't hungry at all. You, meanwhile, had no such problem. You happily ate pasta, fish, and french fries. 

When we arrived, the restaurant had the Switzerland versus Colombia World Cup match playing on a giant television. The entire dining room was watching, reacting to every chance, every missed opportunity, every close call. Even though Brazil had already been eliminated, plenty of people were still completely invested in the tournament. To almost everyone's delight, the match went into extra time and eventually to penalties—the part everyone secretly hopes for because that's when the tension becomes almost unbearable.

Judging by the cheers, groans, and applause around the room, most people seemed to be supporting Colombia, although I have no idea why. Personally, I've learned that watching as a neutral fan is much more enjoyable. You celebrate good football instead of worrying about the result. In the end, Colombia lost the penalty shootout after a uneventful 0–0 draw. The match itself wasn't particularly exciting, so at least the penalties gave everyone something memorable to cheer about. I haven't watched much of Colombia during this World Cup, but I had already seen Switzerland play twice, and I honestly couldn't understand how they had managed to reach the quarterfinals. 

Still, there was something special about sitting in a packed restaurant during the knockout stage of a World Cup, surrounded by strangers who all gasped, celebrated, and groaned together. It created an atmosphere I'd never experienced before.

After dinner we got back on the road and eventually arrived at the beach house. Tonight it would just be the four of us, but tomorrow Rafinha would finally arrive, which meant the fun—and, inevitably, the figjts—would begin. Your godfather is coming too, along with Aunt Cuca and the rest of her family.

We won't stay for long this time, though. On Friday morning we're driving back to São Paulo because my dear friend Raquel is coming to town. That only happens once or twice a year, so there's no way I'd miss the chance to see her. We made plans for her to spend Friday night with us at Grandma and Grandpa's house, and we'll have the entire day together before that. I'm genuinely excited. I've missed my friend.

The best part is that it's school vacation now, so once we've seen Raquel, we can always come back to the beach the following week. 

We get to have both.

 08-10/07 Chapter 577: There's Never a Right Time To Say Goodbye

Your cousin arrived the night after we did, and the very first thing that worried me was hearing him cough. Seriously... how? He's not even going to school right now. How does a child who isn't in school still manage to catch a cold? Then again, it could have come from anywhere. My sister and her husband are constantly out on weekends, and they're always around friends whose children are still little. At the end of the day, it's impossible to raise a child inside a bubble.

The first day you two played together nonstop, but by the following day, once he started feeling worse, there wasn't much playing anymore. Mostly arguing. Rafinha has respiratory issues very similar to yours. He gets short of breath too, but unlike you, his illnesses don't usually progress very far. He feels awful for a couple of days, struggles to breathe a little, and then bounces right back. You, unfortunately, tend to follow a very different path. So all I could do was hope for the best. Grandma and Grandpa both thought his cough sounded different this time, almost allergic rather than viral. Maybe it was something in the beach house or the sea air. At least that's what we all wanted to believe. Because if it turned out to be another virus or bacterial infection, I already knew exactly how this story would end. You'd catch it too. And after everything we'd just gone through with the pneumonia, the anxiety immediately returned.

One of the days it rained, but the other two were beautiful enough for everyone to spend time on the beach. Everyone except me. I still felt completely drained, as though someone had unplugged every ounce of energy from my body. I couldn't understand what was happening. Thankfully, there were plenty of people around—Grandma and Grandpa, Tayna, Pietra, Aunt Cuca and her family—so you never noticed my absence. While you laughed, played in the sand, and enjoyed the ocean, I stayed behind, moving between the bed and the couch, wondering why my own body suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else.

Then came some heartbreaking news. My sister has a cat named Flash. She adopted him years ago, even though we already had what felt like an entire army of cats. He's a Siamese, incredibly affectionate, sweet, and endlessly loving. But he's also adventurous. He reminds me so much of Oliver. He loves wandering outside, exploring the neighborhood, and eventually coming home as though nothing had happened. Playful, energetic, curious... in many ways, he has my sister's personality.

A few days earlier, Flash had become unusually quiet and withdrawn, so Tayna took him to the veterinary hospital. At first, the diagnosis seemed reassuring: feline influenza. We all breathed a sigh of relief. But when his blood work came back, everything changed. It wasn't the flu after all. Flash has advanced kidney disease. One of his kidneys has already failed, and the other has deteriorated so severely that there isn't much left to do except keep him comfortable for as long as possible. The veterinarian estimated he might have another year and a half, give or take. Can you imagine loving an animal while already knowing your time together has an expiration date? From now on, Tayna will have to give him daily subcutaneous fluids to help slow the progression of the disease and support what little kidney function he has left. Every single day he'll need a fairly large needle placed under the skin so the fluids can be absorbed. I know animals usually adapt much better than we imagine, and eventually it becomes part of their routine, but it still breaks my heart to think about.

Tayna cried for a long time. As soon as I saw her, I picked Flash up, settled him gently onto my lap, and stroked his fur. She had brought him to the beach house so she could keep a close eye on him while he was sick, and now, with these daily treatments, he'll probably have to travel with her wherever she goes. He simply lay there while I scratched behind his ears and rubbed his head, completely relaxed, as though he knew he was safe. Poor little guy. Only three years old. Cats are supposed to have so much life ahead of them. It's impossible not to feel your heart ache.

Oddly enough, though, I still think this kind of goodbye is gentler than the one we had with Snowbell. Snowbell was there one moment and gone the next. There was no warning, no chance to prepare ourselves. Someone stepped away for what should have been an ordinary moment, and by the time they came back, he was gone. When you know death is coming, every day changes. You treasure ordinary moments a little more. You take more pictures. You stop postponing cuddles. You make a point of saying goodbye every time you leave the house, even if only in your own heart. You slowly begin grieving before the loss actually arrives.

A sudden death doesn't necessarily hurt more. The absence hurts just as deeply either way, but it crashes into your life with a completely different force. Having the chance to say goodbye matters. It doesn't erase the pain, but it softens the guilt. You don't spend the rest of your life wondering whether you hugged them one last time, whether you should have held them a little longer, or whether you somehow missed your chance.

I still miss you, Snowbell. You were one of the greatest loves of my life.

 11/07 Chapter 578: I Saw It Coming

Well, today we found out the hard way that what Rafinha had definitely wasn't allergies. It was the flu after all. And do you know how we found out? Because you started getting sick too—exactly what I had feared would happen if his cough wasn't caused by allergies. As your cousin recovered almost as quickly as he'd gotten sick, you, unfortunately, began following the opposite path. He was getting better, and you were getting worse.

Looking back, it actually started the night before. You sneezed once. Coughed once. Just a tiny cough that most people probably wouldn't have paid any attention to. But the moment I knew we were in trouble wasn't either of those things. It was when you started complaining about your nose before bed. Lately, that's how every illness seems to begin. Your nose suddenly starts bothering you, and before long you're miserable.

That night was another exhausting one. You woke up what felt like four hundred million times, crying, frustrated that your nose was bothering you so much, and already beginning to feel the aches and discomfort that come with the flu. I barely slept. Every time I managed to drift off, you woke again needing comfort. By morning, I wasn't just physically exhausted from the constant interruptions. I was emotionally exhausted too, because I knew where this could be heading.

Watching you catch a simple cold has never been simple for me.

With most children, it's just another childhood virus. A few miserable days, and then life goes back to normal. But that's never been your story. You're only four years old, and you've already had four cases of pneumonia. Every cough, every fever, every stuffy nose carries a different weight in this house because we've learned, over and over again, that what begins as something ordinary doesn't always stay that way for you.

What makes it even harder to accept is that it hadn't even been two weeks since you finished your antibiotics. Fourteen straight days of treatment for pneumonia, and here we were all over again. It felt almost unbelievable. I hadn't enrolled you in the school's vacation program—not only because of the cost, but also because I thought keeping you away from school during winter break would finally give us a month without viruses. Usually that's where these endless colds come from: classrooms full of little kids generously sharing every germ imaginable.

I know this time you caught it from Rafinha. But he wasn't going to school either, which only left me wondering where on earth he had picked it up in the first place.

Sometimes it feels like these viruses always find us anyway.

What frustrates me most is that I've never known another child who gets sick as often as you do. And it isn't just because I'm exhausted—although I am. It's because I hate watching you suffer over and over again.

Watching your child go through so much is heartbreaking.

Every single week, you sit down for another injection. Every week, you have to gather your courage knowing another needle is coming. That alone would be difficult for any four-year-old. My dad makes the financial sacrifice because those treatments aren't cheap. I make the emotional sacrifice of taking you there every week, holding your hand, watching your face fill with anxiety as you anticipate the needle, trying to be strong for you even when I don't feel strong myself. And you... you're the one making the biggest sacrifice of all. You're the one who has to endure the pain, the fear, and the uncertainty every single week.

We all keep doing it because we believe it's worth it if it helps you stay healthy. But lately, that's the part that's become so discouraging. You go through all of this—the injections, the tears, the anxiety, the endless appointments—and it no longer feels like we're getting the results we used to. At least not these past few months. Seeing you fight so hard only to end up sick again anyway is incredibly disheartening. It makes me question everything, even though I know giving up isn't really an option.

All I want is for you to be able to do what every child deserves to do: simply be a little girl without having to spend so much of your childhood fighting to stay healthy.

Now I have no idea what the next few days will look like. We have to leave the beach house on Monday because I have to be back at work on Tuesday, while Grandma and Grandpa are staying behind. That means it'll be just the two of us again, and I honestly don't know if I can manage without their help if you end up getting really sick. Normally I'd do whatever needed to be done without thinking twice, but right now I'm running on empty. Between your illness and this overwhelming exhaustion that my depression has brought back, I feel like I have nothing left in the tank. It's hard to take care of someone else when your own body feels as heavy as a sack of potatoes.

You spent almost the entire day curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, quietly watching cartoons and resting. I stayed beside you most of the time. In a strange way, we were both lying there for the same reason, yet for completely different ones. You were fighting the flu, while I was fighting something no one else could see. Your body was tired because it was trying to heal. Mine was tired because depression has a way of draining every ounce of energy from you without leaving any visible scars. So we spent the day side by side, both exhausted, both needing rest, each carrying a different kind of battle.

I can only hope that tomorrow the universe finally decides to smile on us. Maybe you'll wake up feeling a little stronger. Maybe I'll find a little more energy than I had today. Sometimes that's all you can ask for—that tomorrow is just a little kinder than today.

 12/07 Chapter 579: How To Move On?

You're handling the flu well, but I'm still scared that things could get worse because, honestly, with your medical history, we can never be completely sure.

Tomorrow we're going back home. Today, since you were feeling better, we went back to the beach house, but I still don't have the energy or strength even for myself, and I don't know what's happening to me. It's been days. Tomorrow, the first thing I'm going to do is schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist to try to understand what's going on. It's not my fault that I feel this way, but it will be my responsibility if I don't do something about it.

During all these days at the beach house, there wasn't a single day when I managed to go to the beach with you. And don't think that doesn't make me sad, because it absolutely breaks my heart.

Tonight I had a strange dream. I dreamed that there was a woman named Amanda at your father's workplace who liked him, and that he was seeing someone. I don't know why, but it hurt me much more than it should have. We've been separated for almost two years, yet the thought of him being with someone else completely shattered me.

As I've told you before, I've had dreams that later felt like premonitions. So I couldn't help thinking this one might be the same. I started putting two and two together, building a puzzle in my mind that somehow made sense. It seemed to explain our sudden distance from each other. We stopped going out together as the three of us, we no longer have dinner together once in a while, and every time I invite your father somewhere, he says no. In my mind, it all seemed to fit.

I sent him a message, pouring my heart out, telling him that if there really was someone else, I wished he had told me. Not because he owed me an explanation, but because I thought it would have been kind and important for me to know. He replied with several messages, but I still haven't had the courage to open them. He'll probably deny it—that's what most men do. But the truth is, I'm too afraid to read them. I'm angry, heartbroken, and I have this knot in my stomach, as if he had betrayed me while we were still together. I know it's irrational because we aren't together anymore, but I still feel this cold, sinking sensation in my stomach that I can't explain.

I guess I'm not ready to see your father move on. But it's already been two years. Will I ever be?

 13-17/07 Chapter 580: I've Heard It All Before

This week, my parents stayed at the beach house with your aunt and Rafinha, while we came back to São Paulo. You've gotten so much better. The only thing that's still worrying your father and me is your cough, which seems to be getting wetter and more congested. It's that deep, chesty cough that always makes us nervous because of your history with pneumonia. Other than the cough, though, everything is perfect.

I finally talked to your dad, and he assured me that he hasn't met anyone and isn't interested in anyone. It took me a while to sit down and have that conversation because I had this knot in my stomach, convinced he was really seeing someone. I don't know why I felt so certain... But in the end, I think the conversation was good for both of us.

Since my parents weren't home this week, my grandma was in Caragua and your dad couldn't stay with us, my mom asked Bete if she could keep us company. She stayed with us every day of the week. I'm afraid of staying alone in this big house. Even though we live in a gated community, this is still Brazil—and especially São Paulo. I just don't feel safe being here by myself, especially with my little girl.

The only real news I have to tell you is about Tayna and Rafael, who say they've broken up again.

Everything seemed perfectly fine while we were at the beach. Rafael was there with us, and nothing seemed wrong. He went back home one day before we did, on Sunday night, because he had to work on Monday. Then, apparently, on Tuesday, he sold his motorcycle without telling my sister. That was the last straw for her, and she refused to accept it. They started arguing, and eventually she told him to sleep at his mother's house and take his things out of their home.

To be honest, I still have a hard time believing they'll actually separate. They're emotionally dependent on each other, and they've always had a very toxic relationship. I think walking away from a toxic relationship is one of the hardest things a person can do.

Still, I have to admit I'm surprised that she managed to spend the entire week without him. This weekend she invited some friends to the beach house. My parents are going back as well, but Rafael isn't coming, which surprised me even more. Usually they can't spend more than a single night apart. The fact that she stayed away from him all week and didn't immediately get in the car to go back home after the argument about the motorcycle is already a huge step—something I've never seen happen between them before.

Once again, I think this story still has a long way to go and will probably end with them getting back together. But we'll see. More than anything, I feel sorry for my nephew. He has to grow up surrounded by this constant instability between parents who refuse to mature and seem trapped in a never-ending case of Peter Pan syndrome.

18/07 Chapter 580: Keep The Darkness Locked Away

A few days ago, I stopped taking my ADHD medication, and I've actually been feeling better. Not one hundred percent, but I no longer feel like a sack of potatoes, which is already a huge improvement for me. Next week I finally have my appointment with the psychiatrist, and hopefully we'll be able to figure out what's been going on.

Something else has been bothering me, though. Around the same time I started feeling overwhelmingly exhausted, I also noticed that I've been going to the bathroom much more often. That's completely unlike me. Ever since I was a child, I've had severe constipation. Going five days without a bowel movement wasn't unusual for me at all. Lately, I've been taking probiotics that I buy in the United States, and they've helped regulate my digestion, which has been wonderful.

I've always joked that my bowel movements looked like little rabbit pellets because they were small and round. But recently, besides going to the bathroom much more often—which, again, isn't normal for me even with the probiotics—the color and shape have changed. They've become thin, almost ribbon-like. And then, of course, I made the mistake of doing what so many people do: I searched my symptoms online and immediately diagnosed myself with rectal cancer.

The internet has a way of driving people crazy by pretending to be a doctor, although, to be fair, we're the ones who go looking for answers there. What frightened me was that almost every source listed persistent changes in bowel habits, ribbon-shaped stools, combined with extreme fatigue, as warning signs that could point to rectal cancer.

Naturally, I panicked. I still don't understand where this sudden exhaustion is coming from, and when I combined that mystery with everything I had just read online, I convinced myself I had cancer. I immediately scheduled a doctor's appointment for the next few days. Now all I can do is hope that everything turns out to be okay.

I can't have cancer. I have a little girl who loves me so much, and I can't bear to imagine what it would do to her if I were gone. She would wonder what happened to her mommy, why I wasn't there anymore... and then, little by little, because she's still so young, she would eventually stop remembering me. I can't let myself dwell on that thought.

I have my little star, whom I love more than anything in this world, and I want to be there for every chapter of her life—from her first steps and first words to every milestone, every achievement, every new beginning. So no, I refuse to believe that's the answer. There has to be another explanation.

20/07 Chapter 581: A Lesson I Never Needed

Today I called a proctologist's office to see if they had any openings, and to my surprise—or maybe not, as you'll understand by the end of this story—they had an appointment available at 5:00 p.m. today. Since I'd been feeling so anxious about everything going on with my intestines, I was relieved that I didn't have to wait days or weeks to be seen. So I went. Looking back now, I honestly wish I hadn't.

The office was in Santana, in the same medical building where several specialists have their practices, including my gynecologist. To my surprise, I was called in immediately. I didn't even have time to sit down. Now I understand why his waiting room was empty and why his schedule was so wide open.

Before I get into what happened, here's something that caught my attention. While I was filling out my registration form, there was a sign in the waiting room inviting patients to scan a QR code to discover which foods matched their personality and what nutrients were supposedly missing from their diet. Strange, but harmless... or so I thought.

Then I went into the consultation room and explained everything. I told him that my bowel habits had changed, that I'd struggled with constipation my entire life... and before I could even finish that sentence, he interrupted me. He never let me explain the rest of the story, including the episode of blood in my stool, which was actually one of the main reasons I was there. Instead, he fixated entirely on the constipation—even though that isn't even my current problem anymore.

He immediately started writing down a list of high-fiber foods and explained that constipation is caused by a lack of fiber. He kept repeating that I had come to the right place. At one point, I honestly wondered whether I had accidentally scheduled an appointment with a nutritionist instead of a proctologist, because all he wanted to talk about was diet, healthy eating, fiber, and more fiber.

I tried to explain that what had really brought me there was the blood in my stool, but he completely dismissed what I was saying. He told me that pellet-like stools—what people often call "rabbit droppings"—were abnormal, blamed my diet, prescribed medication for intestinal worms, and said that getting better depended entirely on me. Then, with an air of superiority, he smiled and said that today I had received "a lesson."

The entire appointment left me feeling unheard. He barely listened, interrupted me repeatedly, and never seemed interested in the fact that my diet has been the same for years, yet something has clearly changed. Most importantly, blood in the stool should always be investigated. Did he perform a digital rectal exam? No. Did he examine whether the bleeding could have come from my hemorrhoid or from a small tear? No. He didn't examine me at all.

So not only did I leave feeling that he was a poor physician, but also an arrogant one. Telling me that I'd just attended "a lesson" while completely ignoring my concerns was incredibly frustrating. It felt like a complete waste of my time. The first thing I did after leaving his office was search for another doctor because my problem was still there, and he had done absolutely nothing to investigate it. Instead, he prescribed deworming medication with no evidence whatsoever, simply saying that his entire family takes it. As if that were somehow reassuring.

Fortunately, I managed to schedule another appointment for Friday, also in Santana. I'm truly hoping this doctor will be different—someone who will actually listen to me. Until then, I'll spend four more days not knowing what's happening with my own body because of poor medical care and negligence. These days, finding a truly good doctor feels harder and harder. First it was an arrogant plastic surgeon, now an equally arrogant specialist. There seems to be no shortage of ego, only a shortage of quality.

24/07 Chapter 582: Twists And Turns Of Fate

Yesterday you went to the beach with your grandparents, but I managed to convince your dad to let us go tonight instead and come back on Monday. Before that, though, I had an appointment with a different gastroenterologist/colorectal specialist to finally investigate the ongoing issues with my intestines. I have to say, the experience couldn't have been more different. It's incredible how two doctors in the exact same specialty can approach a patient in completely opposite ways.

I wasn't seen as quickly as I had been at my appointment on Monday, but from what I could tell, running late isn't this doctor's usual habit. In fact, the moment I walked into his office, he apologized for the delay. That alone already set him apart from doctors like Dr. Humberto or Dr. Walter, who always seemed to be behind schedule. I wasn't in any rush anyway. The only downside was paying for parking by the hour, and the fees weren't exactly cheap.

Still, every extra minute of parking was worth it.

From the very beginning, he never once brought up my diet. The appointment wasn't rushed, but it wasn't unnecessarily long either—it simply lasted as long as it needed to. More importantly, he listened before he spoke. He didn't interrupt me every few seconds like the previous doctor had, and there wasn't a trace of arrogance in the way he treated me.

Instead, he asked thoughtful questions to understand the bigger picture. Had my abdomen been feeling bloated? Was I having pain? When I mentioned the bleeding, he wanted to know exactly where I had seen it—on the stool, in the toilet water, or only on the toilet paper. He asked about the color of the blood and several other details that no one else had bothered to ask. It felt like an entirely different experience. In truth, it felt like the kind of appointment every patient deserves.

After we'd talked for quite a while, he asked me to step into the examination room. First, I was weighed, and then I lay down on the exam table. He gently pressed on different areas of my abdomen, asking whether anything hurt. He also explained that he wanted to check my thyroid and carefully felt along my neck.

When he finished, he asked for my permission to perform a rectal exam. It was an uncomfortable thought—especially with a male doctor—but of course I agreed. At that point, I wanted a thorough evaluation. I needed answers.

He was respectful from beginning to end. Before putting on his gloves, he explained that I would probably feel some discomfort, but if it became too much, I only had to tell him and he would stop immediately. After confirming what I already suspected—that I had an internal hemorrhoid—he used a small instrument to continue the examination. Again, he warned me beforehand that I might feel slight discomfort and reminded me to let him know if it became painful. Every step was explained before he did anything, and every step was carried out with care.

He told me he could see a significant amount of mucus. Once the examination was over, he said he wanted to schedule a colonoscopy and order stool tests to determine what was causing everything. It could be colitis, inflammation, an infection, irritation—or any number of other possibilities. The tests would tell us more.

Then I asked the question I'd been dreading all day.

What were the chances that this could be colorectal cancer?

To my surprise, he didn't try to reassure me with empty promises. He didn't immediately say, "Oh, absolutely not," the way so many people expect doctors to. Instead, he answered honestly. Yes, he said, it was possible. The odds were low, especially at my age, but it couldn't be ruled out without investigating.

It wasn't the comforting answer I had secretly hoped for. Most of us want a doctor to dismiss our worst fears with a smile and a quick "Don't worry." But if there's even a small possibility, the truth is what we deserve to hear. That's exactly what he gave me.

Even knowing the likelihood was small, hearing those words was enough to send my mind spinning for the rest of the day.

I called my mom in tears, telling her about the possibility the doctor had mentioned. As the day went on, though, I slowly began to calm down. Looking back, I realized that what concerned him most wasn't the bleeding—it was the amount of mucus he had found. I had noticed the mucus before, but I hadn't paid much attention to it. I assumed it was some kind of vaginal discharge because I'd noticed it after using the bathroom, not necessarily on my stool. It never occurred to me that it could be related to my intestines.

Thankfully, while I was driving home and taking care of a few things, my mom worked her magic. She managed to schedule both my endoscopy and colonoscopy for the following Friday. That might not sound extraordinary, but it really was. Most people wait at least two or three weeks for those exams. At the hospital where my parents usually go, the wait is closer to three months. Somehow, she found an opening at Oswaldo Cruz Hospital—one of the best hospitals in São Paulo—for just one week later. That alone brought me a little relief.

Even so, seven days can feel like an eternity when your mind insists on imagining the worst. Anxiety has a strange way of stretching time. Every hour feels longer than it should. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about you. If something really was wrong with me, I knew you would be the one who suffered the most. The truth is, I couldn't even allow myself to follow that thought to its conclusion. Just imagining it made my chest tighten.

Now think about how irresponsible that first doctor was. Something is clearly going on with me, even if it’s only a minor inflammation. But let’s imagine, for a moment, that it’s something more serious. Because he didn’t want to investigate further or order the necessary tests, he sent me home with medication that could simply mask my symptoms. Day after day, week after week, and month after month, the real problem could continue to worsen until it became a snowball effect—turning something that might have been manageable into something far more severe.

Let’s talk about the word that scares everyone: cancer. In the worst-case scenario, imagine that I did have a tumor. The doctor had all the warning signs in front of him: changes in my bowel habits, blood in my stool, and a different stool shape. Yet, instead of investigating, he chose to send me home because he didn’t believe it was anything serious. Meanwhile, the tumor could continue to grow and eventually spread. Something that might have been easier to treat at an earlier stage could become a much more difficult, possibly irreversible situation.

I feel deeply sorry for the people who do everything they’re supposed to do. They seek medical help, trusting that a doctor will listen, investigate, and help them find answers—only to be dismissed and reassured that nothing is wrong. Then, later, they face a devastating outcome that might have been prevented. That level of negligence is incredibly heartbreaking.

I tried taking a nap that afternoon so I'd be rested for the drive that night, but sleep never came. Later, I picked up your dad, we stopped by the grocery store to grab a few things, and then we hit the road to come see you.

While we were driving, Raquel called me. That was unusual. Even though we'd been friends since childhood, we don't usually talk on the phone. I assumed she was calling because I'd told her what had happened and admitted that I was terrified it might be cancer. To my surprise, we barely talked about me. Instead, she opened up about what was happening in her own life.

To help you understand, Raquel has always been one of the most caring people I've ever known. Ever since we were young, we've shared the same dream: becoming mothers. I've mentioned before that one of the things I wanted most was to see her finally have a baby. Ever since I was pregnant with you, she'd been hoping—and trying—to become pregnant herself. By then, nearly four years had passed without success.

For a long time, she believed the problem might be with her boyfriend. After a great deal of convincing, he finally agreed to have a semen analysis, and the results weren't particularly encouraging. That led to another battle: persuading him to undergo further testing to find out what was wrong. He resisted because he was afraid of what they might discover. In the end, though, it turned out that the fertility issues weren't his—they were hers.

She has only one fallopian tube, along with several other medical conditions whose names I can never seem to remember. The way she explained it to me was that an embryo has difficulty implanting properly in the lining of her uterus. Even if she were to undergo IVF, implantation would likely fail unless those underlying issues were treated first. The treatment itself lasts about six months and requires hormonal medication. Her boyfriend complained about waiting because he's almost thirty-four, worried that they're running out of time.

I reminded her that while fertility does gradually decline after thirty-five, women today are having healthy pregnancies much later than previous generations. It's no longer unusual for women to have children well into their late thirties—or even around forty. I may have said that a little louder than necessary, especially since your dad was sitting right beside me. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen, and he'd decide he wanted another baby with me someday—a little sister for you. But if I'm being realistic, I don't think that's very likely.

I felt heartbroken for her, and all I could do was offer words of encouragement. I told her she needed to go through the treatment and try again because, in a way, I understood exactly what she was feeling. That dream, that longing, that overwhelming desire to become a mother—to carry a little piece of yourself inside your own body, to feel your baby growing day by day, to hold them close long before they're ever born.

That had always been my greatest dream.

For years, I carried an enormous fear of experiencing exactly what she was going through: being told that I might struggle to conceive, or worse, that I might never be able to have children at all. I think that would have been my worst nightmare. It was a fear I lived with for a very long time, and now it was happening to someone I loved so deeply.

Life has a way of doing that. Sometimes it wraps you in kindness and surprises you with moments more beautiful than you ever imagined. Other times, just when you begin to feel steady, it pulls the ground out from beneath your feet and finds the places where you're most vulnerable. Somehow, it always seems to know exactly where it hurts the most.

I hope one day the universe decides to write a different ending for Raquel. I hope everything turns in her favor, and that before long I'll be celebrating the news that she's finally expecting the baby she's dreamed of for so many years.

After my long conversation with Raquel, I spent the rest of the drive talking with your dad. And then, at the end of a day that had left my thoughts racing and my heart heavy, I finally got to see you.

You greeted me with hugs and kisses, just as you always do.

If the day had begun with fear and uncertainty, it ended in the best way possible—with my favorite place in the world wrapped in my arms.

25-26/07 Chapter 583: There's No Place I Rather Be

That night, the three of us decided to sleep in the same bed. After all, we’re not together very often, and there’s no way of knowing how many moments like that we’ll still have.

The next morning, we woke up, had breakfast, played together for a while, and later in the afternoon headed to the beach. Even though the sky was overcast and the sun never really came out, we still had a wonderful time. This time, we settled near the little river where it meets the ocean, at the far left end of the beach.

You spent some time with Daddy, laughing as you jumped over the little waves together, while I took a moment to simply relax. Later, you and I played soccer on the sand. As soon as we started kicking the ball around, I remembered just how much I love the game. It had probably been more than a decade since I’d last played, yet somehow it all came back so naturally.

When I was 14, I had my own soccer team — I think I’ve told you about that before. I absolutely loved it. I miss playing soccer so much. I know it’s not the same as playing a real game, with a team and all the excitement that comes with it. Playing just for fun with you is a completely different experience, but even so, I had such a good time. It brought back a little piece of something I had forgotten how much I loved.

While we were playing soccer, I let you steal the ball most of the time. Every now and then, though, I'd play a little more seriously, gently showing you that you won't always win. I think that's an important lesson for every child to learn.

A little while later, Daddy joined us, and the three of us started playing together. Every so often, I'd challenge him too, mostly because I wanted to remind him that I'm actually—or at least I used to be—a pretty good soccer player. Every now and then I'd steal the ball from him, and I secretly enjoyed proving that I still had it. Those moments never lasted very long, though, because you wanted to be part of every play, and honestly, we wouldn't have had it any other way.

The only difficult part was that sometimes your dad wouldn't let you score, or he'd score himself, and that would frustrate you so much that you'd throw yourself onto the sand in tears, right in the middle of a full-blown toddler tantrum. We didn't enjoy those moments, of course, but they were part of the game—and part of growing up.

What I'll remember forever, though, was what happened every single time you scored. With your little arms stretched wide open, you'd come running straight into mine and, in the sweetest, most adorable little three-year-old voice, proudly shout: "Goal for the girls!" I think that memory will stay with me forever.

On the other hand, every time Daddy scored a goal, you would get upset. Before long, both he and I were worn out from playing, and we tried to teach you that games don't always go the way we want them to. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Sometimes we're the ones scoring the goals, and other times they're scored against us. Learning how to lose gracefully—and still have fun—is one of life's earliest lessons. It's a challenge that nearly every parent faces, and it's up to us to guide our children through it with patience.

After a nice, relaxing bath, the house felt especially quiet. My parents had gone to Caraguatatuba to visit your grandparents and wouldn't be back until the next day. So your dad and I decided to head out for a little while. The night before, instead of getting his usual ice cream, he chose a Nutella and banana crêpe instead. You ended up enjoying it too—but only after making one last determined attempt to convince us that you should have your beloved ice cream.

You happily shared the Nutella crêpe with Daddy, but every time you bit into a piece of banana, you'd spit it right back out. Which made us laugh, because you actually love bananas. You just didn't want them mixed with chocolate.

That night, you fell asleep almost as soon as your head touched the pillow, exhausted from the day. Your dad and I stayed up a little longer, watching a comedy together before finally calling it a night and heading to bed.

The next morning, we headed to the beach early and even set up our beach tent before settling in. After a while, I went back to the house a little earlier than the two of you while you stayed behind, happily playing with Daddy. I took the opportunity to enjoy a long, wonderfully hot shower. By the time I was finishing, though, you had already made it back and immediately hopped into the shower with Mommy. Since I was just about to get out, I left you splashing around and having fun while I got dressed and brushed my hair.

My parents arrived later that afternoon, just before sunset, after a smooth trip.

That evening, you, Daddy, and I sat together drawing on the chalkboard with the giant Peppa Pig chalk I had brought home from the United States. We laughed, doodled, and had a wonderful time. Later, I spotted two boys outside and invited them to play soccer with us, but it was already after nine o'clock and they had to go to bed. They were genuinely upset because they wanted to play and had even promised to bring a soccer ball.

So I improvised.

The only ball we had was a volleyball, and I started kicking it back and forth toward the goal. It didn't take long for me to realize just how rusty I'd become. My kicks were absolutely terrible—although, to be fair, I was trying to play soccer with a volleyball, so I think I deserve a little credit.

Soon you and Daddy joined me, and the three of us played together. This time we had a proper-sized ball, unlike the tiny one we'd been using on the beach, and an actual field instead of the sand. It felt so much better.

Your shoes started bothering you, so you decided to take them off. I, on the other hand, could barely handle the thought of you walking barefoot across the wet, muddy grass. You couldn't have cared less.

I've always hated stepping on grass. Add mud and dampness to the mix, and it's practically my personal nightmare. Just writing about it makes me cringe. Thankfully, you didn't inherit that from me. You wandered across the grass completely unfazed, as if there were nothing uncomfortable about it at all.

We played a little volleyball too, but only for a few minutes. Soccer was clearly the main event. More than once, you surprised both Daddy and me with a few impressive little moves. If you keep this up, we might have another goal scorer in the family. I used to play, your dad still plays every Thursday, and maybe one day you'll discover that you love the game too.

A little later, Grandma came by and took you for a bike ride around the condominium while your dad and I stayed behind, kicking the ball around for a little longer. Not for very long, though—we were exhausted. As your dad pointed out, it was probably the most physical activity I'd done in years.

To top off the evening, we finally went out for ice cream. Without surprising anyone, you chose the bright blue flavor and strawberry as well.

This time I ordered a petit gâteau—a warm chocolate lava cake—and although your dad insisted on paying (which, I have to admit, was surprisingly generous), I immediately regretted my choice. Not only had he spent the equivalent of about thirty-five reais on it, but it honestly wasn't even worth ten.

It was obvious the cake had come frozen from a cheap supermarket. The ones your dad and I used to buy from the grocery store were infinitely better. This one was flat, soft instead of crisp on the outside, and worst of all, it didn't even have the warm, melted chocolate center that makes a lava cake what it is.

I've realized that when food is truly good, we rarely mind paying a high price. We enjoy every bite, leave satisfied, and hardly think about what it cost. But spending money on something you instantly know wasn't worth it—that's the worst feeling. You can't help but feel as though you've been cheated.

And that was how we ended our day.

They were simple, happy days—the kind that belonged just to the three of us.

27/07 Chapter 584: Little Wonders

Today, we were supposed to leave fairly early—around 11 a.m. But somehow, whenever your dad says we'll leave at that time, he’s usually the one who ends up making us late. I was already ready to go, but something work-related came up for him, and we didn't actually leave until after three in the afternoon. I couldn't stay out too late because another shipment from the U.S. had arrived and I needed to pick it up before the end of the day. Since you would be staying with your grandparents until Wednesday, I would have 2 days to go through everything: check the shipment, organize the merchandise, and arrange payments and deliveries for my customers. Days when a shipment arrives are always chaotic.

During the drive with your dad, we didn't talk much. He mostly spent the trip singing along to my amazing Spotify playlist called Road Trip, which is, without a doubt, the perfect playlist for traveling. The best playlist in the universe—if I may say.

Before heading home and before your dad’s meeting, we couldn't leave without stopping by the café to try our luck with our beloved pain au chocolat again. This time, I wasn't nearly as anxious as I had been before because I had already managed to try one on our last visit, so my victory was already secured. Even if they didn't have it this time, I knew I wouldn't be upset. Still, I secretly hoped they would, not only because I wanted another one for myself, but also because I wanted your dad to finally have one again since it had been such a long time since he last ate it. Unfortunately, when we arrived, they were sold out. They had another chocolate pastry that looked similar, so I bought it, but it didn't even come close to the original. It had much more bread and dough than chocolate, which was exactly what made the other one so special.

Instead, my mom and I shared an almond croissant, and it was delicious. Your dad tried it too and absolutely loved it. You, however, wanted nothing to do with food that day. You didn't even want the regular croissant, which you usually enjoy so much, and you also refused the chocolate one—which honestly surprised me. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe another cold was coming, because for you to refuse chocolate, even when it's inside a pastry, is definitely something worth paying attention to.

As we headed home, despite some frustrations along the way and the nervousness I was feeling about my procedure scheduled for Friday, I found myself filled with gratitude for our weekend together. I felt grateful for the moments we spent playing soccer, for the way you hugged me and celebrated by shouting “goal for the girls,” for watching you discover a love for a sport, for seeing you have so much fun at the beach, and for being surrounded by almost everyone you love. Those are the little wonders of life—the moments that seem simple but become the memories we carry forever.

I was heading home, but I was already looking forward to Wednesday night, when I would finally get to see you again.