Natascha Martins

The situation with the new apartment has been exhausting, the kind of thing that slowly wears you down and gives you a constant headache. Even though the bank has already paid everything, they’re still refusing to hand over the keys, claiming that the property still needs to be registered in my name at the notary. But honestly, since the bank has already fulfilled its part, this just feels like stubbornness from the developer.

The bank sent us the contract to sign, I went to the notary and did everything that was needed, and then sent it back to them. Since Wednesday, they’ve had the contract in their hands, but they said it could take up to five business days to return it signed, which means only next Wednesday. The problem is that after this step, there’s still another stage at the notary, so everything just keeps getting pushed further and further.

My father didn’t want to wait all that time, especially after everything that’s already been delayed, so yesterday he sent them a formal notice demanding that they deliver the keys within 24 hours. The deadline expired today at 4:30 p.m… and of course, nothing happened. No keys, no response, not even a simple explanation, even after being formally notified by a lawyer.

Sometimes I get the feeling they’re used to this, like people threaten legal action all the time and never actually follow through, so they assume this is just another bluff. But this time, it really isn’t.

We’re talking about my father here—and he try to handle everything calmly at first. He waited, trusted that they would resolve things amicably, that it wouldn’t have to escalate. But apparently, that wasn’t going to happen.

So he took the next step.

He filed an urgent injunction with the judge, something that usually takes about 48 business hours for a response. In it, he requested that the developer be ordered to hand over the keys within 24 hours, and also asked for compensation to cover his legal fees.

He read through the contract carefully and assured me that both the contract—and therefore the law—are on our side. But as he himself says, in law nothing is ever 100% guaranteed. There’s always the possibility of getting a judge who sees things differently, who might deny the request. And if that happens, the legal costs would be around R$16,000—based on the value of the property. In other words, someone is going to pay that price. Either my father… or the developer. And since it’s a significant amount, I can tell he’s confident in what he’s doing. Confident that we’ll win. Still, all we can do now is wait and hope.

The judge will probably respond on Monday or Tuesday. And until then… it’s just a matter of holding your breath.

The truth is, it would have been so much easier to solve this amicably. But not everything is in our hands. Big companies are used to pushing people around, swallowing ordinary individuals in the process, as if it’s just another day for them.

Imagine a day that started out beautiful, light, everything falling into place… and somehow ended in complete disaster.

That was today.

Lately, though, I’ve been feeling so much better. For the past two weeks, we’ve been sleeping really well, and it’s changed everything. I set my alarm for 8 a.m., take my antidepressant and my ADHD medication, and by around 9 I’m fully awake. Some days I even wake up right when the alarm rings, take the meds, and already get ahead on a lot of things. I’ve been going to bed earlier too—some nights I’m asleep by 11:30—which means I don’t really get to watch movies or series anymore, but honestly… it’s working. I feel rested, and that makes such a difference.

You’ve changed too.

You’ve learned, and accepted, that there’s no more TV at night because of your nightmares—and you don’t even ask for it anymore. Because of that, I also managed to fix another habit without even trying: you no longer eat dinner in front of the TV. Now you just sit and eat. Two problems solved at once.

It doesn’t mean it will be like this forever. These things come in phases, they change with age. When your fears get better, I’ll let you watch TV at night again, peacefully. But for now… this is working.

And sometimes, when something works, we just have to hold on to it for a while.

Anyway, today we woke up much earlier so we could get to ballet at 11:20. You’re actually allowed to go in a bit earlier, around 11:00, and since I had a lot to do, I really tried to get there closer to that time.

From there, I had to go to the post office to ship an order, then head to the store and stay there for an hour while Rosely went to lunch, and after that I had an appointment with a surgeon to evaluate my scar—something that had been scheduled for quite a while. I was actually really looking forward to it, to finally hear the opinion of another plastic surgeon and not just dermatologists.

So yes… I was in a rush to make everything fit.

And in the middle of all that rush, right after I dropped you off, a traffic light that had been glowing yellow in the distance suddenly turned red before I could make it through. I saw it, I knew it but I was in such a hurry, and since the cars ahead of me hadn’t even started moving yet, I just went for it. I crossed the red light quickly and turned left and then…

PUM.

The worst car accident I’ve ever been in.

A full-on frontal collision.

For a few seconds, my brain simply couldn’t process what had just happened. It felt like a computer freezing mid-task, that little spinning circle on the screen, the word blinking over and over again while everything else stood still.

All I could see was an older woman yelling at me—and she had every right to. Around us, cars had stopped, people were staring, pedestrians gathering… it was chaos. A full, unbearable scene.

And I just stood there, unable to believe what I had done.

My mind started racing, one thought crashing into the next. First, the car. I had gotten it fixed. Just days ago. I had literally started paying the first of four installments . Then it hit me even harder—I was the one who caused this. This time, there was no one else to blame. It was me. Entirely me.

And then came the question that still doesn’t make sense in my head…

How did I turn left like that?

Why didn’t I go right?

That’s when it sank in.

I had entered the wrong side of the road.

I made the turn into oncoming traffic.

I drove straight into the opposite lane… as if it were a one-way street.

Even now, I can’t fully explain it. I keep asking myself how that happened, replaying it over and over, trying to find logic where there seems to be none. But the only answer I can come up with is that, somehow… in that moment, I truly thought it was a one-way street.

And that’s the scariest part of all.

I had said so much about that boy who hit my car, about how careless it was to reverse without looking… and somehow, what I did was even worse.

I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe what had just happened, what had just done. It felt unreal, like a nightmare I would wake up from any second. But I didn’t.

I just stood there, frozen.

For a few minutes, I felt completely numb—like my body was there, but my mind hadn’t caught up yet. I didn’t know what to do, how to react, who to call, where to even begin.

All I could feel was a mix of embarrassment and sadness… and that heavy, sinking realization settling in.

They say rushing is the enemy of perfection.

And in that moment, it truly was.

I signaled to the woman that I would move the car and wait for her further down the street, since we couldn’t just stay there blocking traffic. Shortly after, she did the same and pulled over as well.

Still embarrassed, I got out of my car, gathered the courage, and gently opened her door, asking if she was okay as I leaned slightly inside. She said the seatbelt had hurt a little from the impact, but that she was fine. She was still upset—and rightfully so—and said I shouldn’t have made that turn.

And she was right.

It was entirely my fault.

I told her that, explained that for a brief moment I had thought it was a one-way street, even though now it made no sense at all. I apologized, held her hand, and said I was truly sorry, asking again if she was okay.

And she said she was.

The damage to her car looked severe. The entire front was crushed. When I first glanced at mine, it didn’t seem like much—but I had only looked from one side. When I walked around to the other, I saw it properly. It was damaged too. Not as badly as hers, since my car is higher, but the left side had taken a hard hit. Much worse than the previous accident I had just fixed.

Still inside her car, I tried to reassure her. I told her I had insurance, that she wouldn’t have to worry about any expenses. She then called her daughter on video and explained what had happened. Her daughter was kind—she even smiled at me through the screen, said hello, and asked if her mother was okay. When the woman mentioned some pain where the seatbelt had pressed against her, her daughter immediately became concerned and said that if the pain continued, she should go to the hospital. But she insisted she was fine, that she had only called to say she wouldn’t be able to pick up the kids from school.

And then I noticed something that stayed with me.

In the back seat, there were two child seats.

I had just dropped you off at school.

And she had been on her way to pick up two children.

Of all the possible outcomes… we were lucky.

No children in either car. No serious injuries. Just the impact, the shock, and everything that comes after.

It could have been so much worse.

After that, she called her son, and the moment she told him what had happened, I could hear the shift in his tone. He sounded irritated—understandably—and said he was already on his way. She mentioned he would get there quickly because he worked nearby and was coming on a motorcycle. I won’t lie, that made me nervous. The irritation in his voice, the fact that he was coming fast, that he was a man… all of it together left me even more shaken than I already was. So I tried to be practical, asked her to take a picture of my documents, gave her my phone so she could call me and confirm my number, and without even realizing it, I was trying to leave before he arrived because I honestly didn’t feel like I could handle anything else at that moment.

She said she was fine and that her son would meet her there, so I left and headed to the post office, trying to at least save one thing from everything I had planned. But the day was already falling apart. The store had already told my aunt I wouldn’t make it, the doctor had canceled the appointment, and it hit me how a single second had been enough to ruin everything. Not only had I lost my entire schedule, but now I was also going to have to deal with a huge expense to fix the car. On the way, I gathered the courage to call my mom, and she couldn’t believe what I had done. I could hear the frustration in her voice, but I told her I didn’t need that right now, that I would take responsibility and pay for everything, and I didn’t want to hear reproaches.

Everything changed again when, while I was at the post office, I got a message from Zarita saying her car wouldn’t start and that it was leaking fluid, and she needed me to call a tow truck. That’s when reality hit me even harder, because I didn’t even know how to do that. My mom had to wake my dad and explain everything so he could help, and said she would call me back after talking to him. And in that moment I just broke down. I was nervous, overwhelmed, and suddenly felt incredibly guilty for having left her there alone. She is 75 years old. I shouldn’t have left. I should have been stronger, faced my fear, stayed there until her son arrived, no matter how uncomfortable I felt. So I turned the car around and went back, this time not to escape, but to be there for whatever she needed.

To my surprise, when my mom called me back, she said my dad was calm and told me to calm down too, that these things happen. And honestly, that’s very much like him—he has always been calm when it comes to car accidents, always the one bringing a sense of steadiness when everything feels like it’s falling apart. Hearing that from him helped me breathe a little again, it grounded me.

If my day had already been a disaster, it could have been so much worse if it weren’t for my parents, who helped me so much today. They stepped in and took care of everything with me, especially the whole process of opening the insurance claim so the woman could have her car towed directly to a repair shop. My dad first tried resolving it over the phone, then got frustrated, then tried doing it online, only to reach the end of the page and have it crash with an error. So he had to start all over again, back on the phone, repeating everything from scratch. These things are exhausting, bureaucratic, slow… you have no idea how much work they take until you’re in the middle of it.

When I got back, to my relief, her son was polite and patient with me, especially considering everything that had happened. I stayed there with them for a while longer, and after some time, a man from a chocolate shop nearby came over and offered the three of us some water. It was such a kind gesture, it really touched us. He said he had noticed how long we had been standing there under the sun and told us not to be upset, that material things we can always recover, but what truly matters is that we were all okay. Such a rare kind of kindness these days.

I only left when they told me the tow truck was about seven minutes away. By then, I had no energy left for anything. All I wanted was to go home, curl up under a blanket, cry, and sleep. But I’m a mother—I don’t have that luxury. There was no food or fruit at home, so I stopped by the market and did what needed to be done. I even ended up having lunch at a simple pay-by-weight restaurant just so I could get home and finally rest. But then I felt even worse when I texted her son and he told me they were still waiting for the tow truck. It was awful. The accident had happened around 11 a.m., and now it was already 3 p.m. A 75-year-old woman, stuck in the same place for over five hours… because of me.

When I finally got home and confirmed that the car was on its way to the repair shop, I lay down and fell asleep. When I reach that level of sadness, there’s only one thing I want: to sleep. To turn myself off for a while, to stop existing, even if just for a moment.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

All day, I felt heavy, sad, drained. And I realized something—causing an accident feels completely different from being the victim of one. When someone hits you, of course you feel frustrated, upset, but it wasn’t your fault. It was out of your control. You were just caught in someone else’s mistake. But when are the one who causes it… it’s different.

I felt guilty.

Deeply guilty.

Because it wasn’t just about the crash. I had disrupted that woman’s entire day. Now she would have to deal with the inconvenience of not having a car for at least a month, taking buses or Ubers like she told me… all because of a mistake I made. A decision I made in a second that now has consequences in someone else’s life.

And not just anyone.

A 75-year-old woman.

That’s what stayed with me the most.

And it made me feel terrible.

As if the headache from everything involving the car wasn’t enough, now I’m dealing with something else too: my father’s anger.

He filed the request on the 20th, a Friday, and these urgent injunctions usually get a response within 48 hours. Today is the 26th, and still… nothing. Absolutely nothing. On the 24th, he submitted another request reinforcing the urgency, and that was ignored as well. And then, well… you know your grandfather.

He gets furious when things aren’t done properly, when people don’t deliver what they’re supposed to. He’s a perfectionist, and because of that, he expects everyone else to be the same. That’s his biggest mistake. I don’t think he fully understands that we live in Brazil, where things don’t always work the way they should, and where processes seem to get slower and more complicated every day.

So he wrote an entire document filled with insults and extremely heavy offenses directed at the judge, saying that if the keys are released before the judge’s own decision it would only prove how ridiculous and broken the justice system in our country is. But he didn’t stop there… he went much further, crossing a line that should never be crossed. He included offensive language, even sexual in nature, directed at the judge, and here in Brazil that is a crime. He could lose his license to practice law, and worse, he could even be arrested. And I’ve said this before about your grandfather—he’s not afraid of anything. But that kind of fearlessness is dangerous, because it blinds you.

Everyone is against him sending that document. We’ve been insisting, begging him not to do it, but he keeps saying he knows exactly what he’s doing. The problem is… he doesn’t. And what scares me the most is the weight this could have on me if something happens to him because of this situation. I would carry that guilt for the rest of my life. And the worst part is that this time, it wasn’t even me who asked to go to court. It came from him, from his anger, from seeing the developer refusing to hand over the keys to my apartment.

Now we’re all trying to find a way to calm him down, to stop him from sending that document, because once it’s sent, there’s no going back. The only thing that gives me a little bit of peace is knowing that the keys probably won’t be released anytime soon anyway. The contract has been with the developer since March 18th, and they gave a deadline of five business days to return it signed. That deadline has already passed—and not only passed, it has doubled—and they’ve simply disappeared. Completely silent. And I know exactly why: they’re waiting for us to chase them. But we won’t. And since they clearly don’t care about the client, those keys are not coming out anytime soon. He even said himself that he would only send that document the keys are released before the decision.

So now all we can do is wait… and hope that the judge finally does his job and gives some kind of response.

And on top of everything, there’s still the financial risk. The legal cost is always around 1% of the value of the case, and since the apartment is worth over one million six hundred thousand, that means about R$16,000. We have to pay that upfront, and we only get it back if we win. So this isn’t just emotional stress—it’s a real risk. You need to be very confident to put that kind of money on the line.

And apparently… he is.

Today was a beautiful day—light, easy, and genuinely happy. Your dad had always encouraged me to get closer to the other moms from your class, to suggest meeting outside of school, maybe at a mall, a park, or even for a picnic. And since we had been planning to go to the beach with Noah and Sophia but had to cancel because of the car, I thought… why not do something here instead? It was going to be a really hot weekend, your grandparents were already at the beach, and it felt like the perfect opportunity to invite your little friends over for a pool day.

First, I checked with my parents, and they said it was fine. My dad even asked the son of Maria, who was working at the house next door, to turn on the pool heater the day before so the water wouldn’t be too cold. Then I messaged the moms on Tuesday or Wednesday, asking who could come. I knew it was last minute, so of course many already had plans, but a few were able to make it. Marina, Manuela, Caio, the new twin girls from your class, and I also reached out to some of your old friends who had left the school—Laís, Isabella, Manoella, and Bella. You used to be very close to all of them, but only Manoella could come.

So I created a WhatsApp group with the moms to organize everything—sharing the address, setting the time, and figuring out who could bring what to eat and drink. And just like that, something simple started to come together into something really special.

But just like I had already imagined, some moms ended up canceling. I honestly don’t know how, at your birthday party last year, everyone who confirmed actually showed up and that’s rare. Usually, even after confirming, something comes up on the same day and people cancel.

Yesterday I went to the market to buy hamburgers, bread, cheese—just a simple setup for the adults—while some of the parents said they would bring fries, nuggets, pão de queijo for the kids. While I was counting how many adults there would be and telling them I was heading to the store, Caio’s mom texted saying something had come up. That was fine, because at least she told me before I bought everything. But then today, the twins’ mom said they had to take vaccines and couldn’t reschedule, so they wouldn’t come either. What bothered me a little wasn’t even the cancellation itself, but the fact that she didn’t even offer to cover her share of the food I had already bought for her and her husband. Of course I would never accept it if she had offered, but it’s more about the gesture… the politeness of it. Especially because this wasn’t a hosted party where one person pays for everything. We had agreed to split things, it was just a meeting point for the kids. But anyway… you didn’t even mind, since you’re not really close to the twins, so life goes on.

At that point, I even sent a message in the group asking the moms not to cancel anymore because now it was down to just three kids—Manuella, Marina, and Manoella. Thankfully, no one else backed out… but of course, everyone arrived late.

We had planned for noon. Marina showed up at 1:30, and Manoella and Manuella arrived almost together at 2:30. Still, it didn’t ruin anything. It was a very hot day, perfect for the pool, and you were all so happy, swimming around, laughing, enjoying yourselves. Manoella hadn’t seen you all year, but the moment you saw each other, it was like no time had passed—you picked up right where you left off and played so well together.

You spent some time in the pool, then you wanted to go inside to play princesses and castles, showing your toys to your friends, and I let you. I kept encouraging you to go back outside, though, because the weather was so perfect and I wanted you to really enjoy the pool. It took a while, but eventually you all went back.

Only Marina’s dad and Uncle Rafael—who arrived later—actually got into the pool. The other parents didn’t. And I didn’t either. Being the host is complicated… you’re constantly moving, giving attention to everyone, organizing things, preparing food, keeping an eye on your child. It’s exhausting in a quiet way.

It’s always much easier to be the guest.

Marina’s parents had a show later that day, so they were going to leave earlier, but as it usually happens, once one family starts leaving, the others begin to wrap things up too. In the end, Manoella and Manuella’s parents didn’t stay very long either, maybe around two hours, but even so, it was enough for you all to have a really good time.

You played in the pool, with dolls, in your big dollhouse outside, at the playground… you ate fries, nuggets, meat, and you were all genuinely happy just being together. It was a simple day, but a good one. There was only one part that made me upset. Rafinha arrived around 3 p.m., and when he got excited to see all of you, you turned to your friends and said he wasn’t going to play with you. I corrected you immediately, and I was very firm about it, but throughout the afternoon I noticed you excluding him more than once, and that really bothered me.

Bullying, mistreating, or excluding someone is something I will never tolerate under my roof.

Even your godmother talked to you about it when she noticed it happening at another moment.

I understand that Rafinha can be difficult. He’s very energetic, all over the place, sometimes rough. The moms even mentioned outside that when he arrived, two of the girls ran to tell their mothers that he was there and that he might hit them, because that’s something he has done at school before. He and Caio both have that habit. When the moms told us that, everyone laughed a little, but Tayna apologized a lot. She said she talks to him, tries to guide him, but doesn’t always know what else to do. Thankfully, all the parents are kind and understanding, and no one has gotten upset or complained about him so far.

So yes, it’s natural that the girls feel a little hesitant around him.

But you… you’re his cousin.

You have your own difficulties with him, I know that, but you also have a role. You should be the one trying to include him, to help him, to guide him. I’ve seen you do that before, many times. You act almost like a second little mother to him, telling him what’s right and wrong, how to behave, what to say.

So you need to lift him up, not push him away.

Because what it felt like today was this: when your friends are around, he doesn’t matter, you don’t need him. But when they’re not there, then you want him, then you want to play with him. And it doesn’t work like that.

We talked about it, and I know you’re still a child, still learning. But if God allows, you and Rafinha will be in each other’s lives for many, many years. Friendships come and go, most of the time.

Family stays.

After that, the parents slowly started leaving one by one, and I stayed behind trying to tidy up a bit of the mess that was left.

When it was time to sleep, you asked for Mano—your little friend who left the school. It seems she was really close to you. I’ll have to start making more plans with her mom so you two can see each other more often, because she also left in tears, not wanting to say goodbye to you.

The sweetest thing.

Before we left my parents’ house today, your dad took you to see the koi fish in the condo and ended up staying there with you for over an hour. When he came back, he told me that at the playground you had made a new little friend named Amora—which, honestly, sounds more like a dog’s name to me. I love unique names, but Amora might be a bit much.

Still, he said she kept trying to get close to you, to play and befriend you, and you stayed a bit shy, with your finger in your mouth. He insists we should take you to see a psychologist, but I still feel like you’re within a perfectly normal range. When I compare you to Marina, for example—your classmate—her own parents have said there’s no comparison, that she’s much more introverted than you are. Of course, compared to kids like Rafinha, Lívia, or Manuela, you do come across as a little more reserved, but again… I still think it’s normal.

Your dad doesn’t see it that way.

So for now, I’ve been trying to buy some time, using the excuse that we recently changed health insurance. My plan is to wait until everything is settled, and if by then you’re still the same, we can look into it more seriously.

On the way home, I insisted we stop somewhere to eat because I was hungry and your dad was too. But he wanted to go back to that breakfast café we had gone to recently, while I wanted a proper restaurant. He would’ve been fine with just bread, but I argued that I probably wouldn’t eat anything else for the rest of the day, so I wanted a real meal. Unfortunately, the restaurant I had in mind—which was right across from the café—had a waiting list, and we ended up standing there for almost 30 minutes, with your dad complaining every five minutes… and then you started too.

At one point I told him that if he didn’t want to wait, he could just take an Uber back since it was so close, and I would stay there with you. Convincing you, on the other hand, was easy. I told you that if you waited patiently, you’d get ice cream after lunch. And well… ice cream works in any situation with you.

Soon after, our table was ready and we sat outside. I ordered the fried provolone with onions and bacon, the same one I had on Valentine’s Day last year when the three of us came here and also a breaded filet mignon with the house’s special mayo and cheese. Both were technically appetizers, but I knew they would be more than enough for me.

Your dad ordered a steak sandwich and shared the meat with you, cooked medium-rare. You ate it, but more because you were being encouraged than because you were actually enjoying it. It made me notice something… you used to eat meat happily, with real appetite, and now it seems like you prefer chicken or fish instead. You had orange juice with me, which went quickly, and then I ordered a lemonade. You only tried it because I told you it was Princess Tiana’s juice—since it was green—but because it was nice and cold, you ended up liking it. Not as much as the orange juice, but you said you did.

Then came your ice cream cone. They only had lemon flavor. At first, I had to tell you it was vanilla, otherwise you wouldn’t even try it, but halfway through I told you the truth. We explained that you had liked it, which meant it could now officially join your list of “ice creams I love.” It was actually so good that I ordered one for myself too. I had wanted a petit gâteau, but they only had dulce de leche and the chocolate one was gone and to me, petit gâteau has to be chocolate or it’s just not the same. So I happily settled for the lemon ice cream as well, and in that heat… it was perfect.

When I was getting to the best part—the end of the cone—you had already finished yours and started begging for mine. Of course, I gave it to you. Actually… I didn’t even really give it, you basically took it from my hand. And that’s how it goes, isn’t it? Parents are always giving up their last bite for their children.

After we left the restaurant, I joked in the car saying you were going to your dad’s house, which usually makes you cry because you don’t want to go but this time you only complained for a second and then, to both of our surprise, said you actually wanted to go. You made me promise, with a pinky promise, that I would pick you up later because you didn’t want to sleep there, but even so… it was a big step. Ever since that night, you hadn’t wanted to go back to your dad’s house at all, so even though he was busy today and had things to do, he couldn’t let that opportunity slip away.

Lately, you’ve been getting along really well with him and genuinely enjoying his company, asking about him when he’s not around. And that makes me happy, it really does. It’s a big step, something I’ve been wanting for you. But I’ll admit… sometimes I feel a tiny bit jealous. Not in a bad way, just that quiet little fear that maybe one day you’ll enjoy being with him more than with me. Your dad has more energy, he plays more, he entertains you in ways that I don’t always manage to, and sometimes my own tiredness and lack of energy make me feel like I fall short.

I know that everyone can shine in their own way—that a mom and a dad each have their own space, their own kind of connection, different but equally special. Still… I think it’s just a little bit of silly jealousy.

Today was a calm day, but by night things escalated and very quickly. To explain what happened, I need to go back a little, to the beginning.

We’ve been so worried about my father and the situation with that document that we started thinking of ways to stop him from actually sending it. And then, suddenly, I had an idea—one that could actually work.

Rosely and Toninho are close friends with a judge from the appeals court. He’s Leonardo’s boss—Leonardo has worked for him for years—but over time the relationship grew beyond that, and he became close to Leonardo’s parents as well. Nowadays, they go out together quite often, have dinner, spend time socially, and there was even a New Year’s Eve when he invited Toninho and Rosely to celebrate with him. Even when Leonardo isn’t around, they still meet frequently.

And that’s when it clicked for me… maybe, just maybe, this connection could help us.

Since I’m very close to Rosely—we run the store together, travel together, share a real sense of intimacy—it felt natural to turn to her. My mom thought it was a good idea, but instead of talking to Rosely directly, she reached out to Toninho, because Rosely can be a bit scattered and he wanted to make sure everything was explained clearly. They stayed on the phone for quite a while, and Toninho said he would help without any problem, but there was one condition: before anything, we needed to talk to my father and make sure he would not send that document. Because if they stepped in to help him and then he went ahead and sent those insults to the judge anyway, it would reflect badly on Toninho and on the judge himself—it would put them in an embarrassing position.

So what they needed was simple, and fair: my father’s word. If they intervened on his behalf, he would drop the idea of sending that document. It made total sense. It was reasonable. The problem was… my mom didn’t believe my father would agree. Not because he didn’t understand, but because of his pride—his resistance to accepting help from others.

That was supposed to be the hardest part. My mom had planned to talk to him when they got back from the beach, to catch him on a good day, when he’d be calmer. But yesterday, for once, I stopped being afraid. I called him on video and brought it up myself, explained everything—and to all of our surprise, he agreed immediately. No resistance, no pride getting in the way. He said it was a great idea and that as soon as he got home, he would send the case number so they could help us.

And honestly… I think he was exhausted. This whole situation had been eating him alive for days. He did everything he was supposed to do, followed the right path, trusted the process—but the judge simply wasn’t responding. And when the developer refuses to hand over the keys and the justice system doesn’t move… what are you supposed to do? Where do you go from there? Is there even a solution?

I sent the case to Toninho this morning and he said he would take care of it, so at least on that front things seemed to be moving forward.

But at the same time, I’m still dealing with the car situation. My father insists that the car should be repaired at the Jeep dealership itself, and he’s right in the sense that the contract doesn’t say it can’t be done there. In the end, the insurance agreed to send someone to inspect the car at the dealership to approve the estimate, but ever since last week they keep scheduling the inspection and then simply don’t show up. It’s very clear they’re dragging their feet because they don’t want the repair done there—it will obviously cost much more than at one of their partner body shops.

So when I got home and saw my mom on the phone, I thought she was trying to sort that out. But she wasn’t. She was talking to Toninho. And from what little I could overhear… things weren’t going well.

While she was on the phone, I made a quick gesture with my hands—thumbs up, thumbs down—asking how things were going. She answered with a thumbs down.

Bad news.

As soon as she hung up, I asked right away who had backed out. If it had been the judge, I could understand—he doesn’t know me, after all, it would have been a favor, and at least we tried. But if it had been Toninho, then it would be a different story entirely.

That’s when she paused for a second and carefully began to explain what he had said.

She started by saying that Toninho sounded really uncomfortable and apologized several times, but that before doing anything, he decided to talk to Leonardo. And honestly, at that point she didn’t even need to keep explaining, because I already knew exactly what had happened. That selfish piece of shit Leonardo made his father back off. Still, she continued, saying that Toninho felt hesitant to do anything without speaking to him first, since after all he is his boss, and he was afraid of somehow hurting his own son.

This is something I’ve mentioned before, but it’s worth repeating about Rosely and Toninho: they only have Leonardo, he’s an only child, and sometimes that is a huge downside. Now that he moved to another continent, it feels like their lives have lost their color, like everything became gray. They cry, they complain, they walk around sad all the time… it’s as if their entire existence revolves around him. And as much as we love our children, that kind of dependency just isn’t healthy. Both parents and children need to have their own lives.

My uncle has made—and still makes—a lot of money, and instead of enjoying it, traveling, living for himself, he keeps saving everything for his son. They used to live in a huge house, and now they’re in a 50-square-meter apartment that they both hate because it feels too small. With the money he has, he could easily buy a 300-square-meter place and avoid that kind of shock, going from a big house to something tiny. But no, he prefers to keep saving, even at this stage in life, just to give everything to a son who, lately, has shown nothing but coldness toward his own parents.

So I was fucking furious when I found out he went to ask his son for permission, because I didn’t ask his son for the favor—I asked . I asked him based on the relationship has built with the judge. I don’t care where that friendship came from or who introduced who, at this point are friends, period. And another thing—if he felt the need to ask his idiot son for permission, then why didn’t he say that from the very beginning? Why not say, “Look, I’d really like to help you and I want to, but first I need to check with Leonardo so we don’t run into any issues”? If he had said that, we would have respected it, waited, and most importantly, we wouldn’t have created expectations or even brought this up to my father.

Instead, what happened was this: his selfish little shit of a son started saying that this wasn’t a serious issue, that if it were something truly serious then maybe it would be different, but that the judge is a very busy man and it wouldn’t be appropriate to bother him with something like this. He also said that the relationship they have with the judge today exists because of him, and went on and on with that same bullshit reasoning. And on top of that, he said that one day might need a favor from the judge, and if they used it now for someone else, they would be “wasting” that opportunity.

It’s the same logic as refusing to help someone who’s starving because one day you need that money yourself. It’s small-minded, selfish, and honestly… pathetic.

Seeing all of this made us look differently at what happened with João, my cousin who moved to Australia and got really upset with Leonardo for not helping him. At the time, we thought João was being entitled, but now, seeing this and actually living through it, maybe it’s not João who was wrong. Maybe Leonardo is just someone who doesn’t help anyone. And that in itself was a lesson: every story has two sides. It’s so easy to judge when you’ve only heard one version, but there is always another perspective you’re not seeing.

And now this makes it the second person in the family he refused to help.

I was so angry. So, so angry. I rarely feel that kind of anger, honestly. It’s not something familiar to me, not something I carry or nurture… but I felt it. It hit me hard. I cried so much and found myself saying all kinds of things about him, angry, hurt… calling him exactly what I felt he was—a selfish piece of shit. And the craziest part is that when we were kids, we were so close. Really close.

What hurts the most is that I’m always trying to help people. I stop what I’m doing, I show up, I try. I wouldn’t think twice if something was within my reach. And then when I’m the one who needs help, the door just gets slammed in my face. That alone would already hurt, but what made it worse was knowing that the help was , so close, and because of one selfish person—who wasn’t even the one I asked—we were thrown right back to zero.

Sometimes all it takes to solve a problem is a small push from someone, a bit of goodwill so you can finally lay your head on the pillow and breathe. But people are too selfish for that. They’re not ready for that conversation.

And I was also angry at my uncle for being so… weak. For needing his son’s approval.

Honestly, I hope one day he has to come back to this chaotic, messed-up place we call Brazil, and I hope that when needs something, someone turns their back on him the same way he did.

In the meantime… we keep trying to find another solution.

If there even is one.