02/11 Chapter 332:Free to be you
All week, your dad and I planned to take you to a little farm in another town, closer to São Paulo. I found the idea on an Instagram page that featured a charming farm I knew you’d love. When I suggested it to your dad, he was just as excited as I was. It would be our first outing together as a family, but also in a way apart—if that makes any sense. Beyond making you happy, this was also about me doing my part and trying to change, to step away from always spending weekends at my parents' house.
The main issue for me with not going to my parents' place was ending up stuck in the apartment with nothing planned. If we had a fun plan, somewhere nice to go, I wouldn’t mind skipping a visit to their house at all. But without a plan, I always felt it was better to be at their place, where you’d have space to run around and play, instead of cooped up in our small apartment. Plus, let’s face it—things tend to fall on me more than your dad, and at my parents' house, I get a bit of help. So if there’s no plan, it’s just easier to be somewhere you can enjoy yourself.
Anyway, your dad stayed over at the apartment the night before since the plan was to leave early, given the farm was far and closed at 5 PM. We’d need to make the most of the day, so we got up early. I even suggested we watch something the night before, but he said it was better to go to bed since we’d need the rest. Fair enough, I thought—until I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and saw him still up playing his video game in the other room. Of course, there's always time for his games, no matter how early we need to wake up. Classic.
I was the first to wake up because I had set an alarm. Getting your dad and you out of bed, however, was another story. Your dad, of course, was exhausted—he’d been so busy staying up all night playing his video game, despite knowing we had an early morning ahead. And, let’s be honest, it wasn’t even that early—around 10 AM. Still, he chose to spend the night gaming, and as you can imagine, he wasn’t exactly in the best mood when I finally managed to wake him up. Meanwhile, I was excited and full of energy, but, being a Pisces, I’m like a sponge when it comes to other people’s emotions. If someone near me is sad or grumpy, there’s a high chance I’ll end up feeling the same. If someone’s cheerful, there’s a chance I’ll catch their vibe too, though not as easily as with the negative emotions (typical, right? Hahaha). I even tried to lift the mood, cracking jokes and staying upbeat, but it was hopeless.
When we finally got into the car—way behind schedule, of course—you were crying, the weather wasn’t great, and the drive took much longer than I expected. To make things worse, the road was a nightmare to navigate. Your dad kept grumbling, questioning whether this trip was even worth it, which only made me angrier. I mean, what was I supposed to say to that? I just wanted to give you a fun weekend, something different for all of us. But by the time we were close to the farm, it started raining. Your dad, with his typical pragmatism, said, “Some things just aren’t meant to be.” And for once, I had to agree. By that point—or maybe even earlier—I was already bitterly regretting the whole trip.
All I wanted was for you to have a good time, for us to make a sweet little memory together. But even that felt out of reach.
But I must say that when we finally arrived, you woke up, the rain had stopped, and the place was actually really lovely. There were all kinds of animals, and you immediately perked up when you realized where we were. The tickets weren’t too expensive—75 reais per adult—and, well, we had to fib a little and say you were only 1 year and 10 months old to avoid paying full price for you. I mean, come on, charging full price for a two-year-old? That’s a bit much. You’d just turned two, after all. Luckily, they didn’t ask for any ID.
The first animals we saw were the ponies, and we fed them carrots. At first, you were scared, but eventually, you warmed up to them. Then we saw the bunny, the sheep, the goat, the horse, the cow—all the classic farm animals.
Before leaving, since it looked like a big storm was coming, we stopped by the farm’s restaurant. But they were charging R$80 per person, and honestly, that felt way too expensive for what they were serving. So we decided to head out—and thank goodness we did, because as soon as we left, the downpour began. The drive back felt shorter, and we stopped at a steak house I used to love as a kid, where my parents would take me and my sister. Sadly, the quality wasn’t what I remembered, but at least we paid only R$90—just 10 more than the farm restaurant—and got a much better variety of meats and sides. I think we ended up eating far better there.
Now, there was one moment at the restaurant that really upset me with your dad. You had your little head propped on one hand, with your arm resting on the table, and somehow you lost your balance and ended up knocking your head a bit. To keep you from crying, I chuckled softly and said something like, "Careful there!" But your dad immediately scolded me, saying it wasn’t funny and that you were hurt. That really annoyed me—I hate being called out, especially when I didn’t do anything wrong.
My intention was never to downplay your feelings but to avoid alarming you. When a child gets hurt, panicking or rushing to comfort them often signals that something bad has happened, and they respond by crying. Instead, I try to keep things light, saying things like, “You’re okay, get up,” or even making a joke about it. It’s worked countless times, even back when I was babysitting. If I act calm and cheerful, there’s a chance you’ll laugh too and move on without tears. Of course, I don’t always manage to keep my cool the way I’d like, but I try my best. I explained all this to your dad, but it still bugged me. Anyway…
Despite everything, I was so glad I took you to see the animals because you're such a little animal lover right now. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll even become a vegetarian. I don’t think veganism is likely, though—that seems a bit extreme to me. I don’t see anything wrong with eating eggs, cheese, honey, or the other things animals provide for us, especially since it doesn’t take a life. Vegetarianism, I can understand and admire. I’ve even thought about trying it myself, but I know I wouldn’t last—I don’t eat any vegetables, salads, or fruits. What would I live on?
You, unfortunately, might end up the same way. Even though you love animals, you don’t eat vegetables or salads either. You do eat some fruit, but not nearly as much as you did when you were a baby. How could anyone become a vegetarian without fruits or greens? It’s sad, really. The world we live in is tough—taking lives just to feed ourselves. But even in the animal kingdom, that’s the way of life. They hunt and kill each other to survive.
For me, I can’t even watch videos of whales eating seals or lions hunting deer. I don’t like thinking about how animals are killed for us to eat—it makes me so sad. That’s why I want you to hold on to your innocence for as long as you can, to live in your fairy tale world, surrounded by magic and fantasy. Enjoy your childhood—it truly is the most wonderful time of life because the world is a dark place.
It would be beautiful if we didn’t have to kill to eat, if humanity could live without taking any life at all. Imagine if all the delicious foods we enjoy could come from something else entirely.
Anyway, I admire vegetarianism (though I see veganism as a bit extreme). But one thing I believe is wrong is imposing your beliefs on children—whether it’s your religion, your dietary choices, or even your favorite sports team—and not allowing them the freedom to choose their own path.
If you are vegetarian or vegan, imposing this lifestyle on a newborn or young child can raise significant concerns, particularly regarding their nutrition and development. During early childhood, the body requires a broad spectrum of nutrients to support rapid growth, including proteins, iron, calcium, and vitamins like B12, which are often found more abundantly in animal-based products. While a plant-based diet can provide these nutrients, achieving a balanced intake requires careful planning and supplementation, which may not always be practical or effective, especially for a young child who depends entirely on their caregivers for proper nutrition.
Additionally, imposing dietary restrictions based on personal beliefs might overlook the child's unique nutritional needs and preferences. I think children and people overall should have the opportunity to make their own informed choices about their diet as they grow older, rather than having one imposed on them at a stage when they cannot voice their own preferences. For these reasons, while vegetarian or vegan diets can be healthy and sustainable for adults, applying the same dietary principles to children without professional guidance might not always align with their best interests.
For example, Débora doesn’t let her kids participate in Halloween parties, even though they really enjoy them, because of her own beliefs. But that doesn’t mean her kids share the same views. In fact, her husband is an atheist—shouldn’t his opinion count too? Imagine a 12-year-old preteen not being able to enjoy a party with friends just because her mom believes it’s “of the devil.” Ugh...
04/11 Chapter 333:Torn
Today, I had meetings with both companies. The first was with BDV Solutions, who had asked to speak with me after my review. During the conversation, I spoke with two Brazilians: a woman who has been with the company for a long time and a Brazilian lawyer from their team. I explained my concerns about the negative reviews I’d read, and they addressed each one with explanations that, to be honest, seemed reasonable.
To start, they pointed out that many of the issues people faced were linked to applicants from specific countries, particularly Angola, other African nations, and smaller Asian countries. For applicants from South America and Europe, the chances of success are reportedly higher. They also clarified a key misunderstanding about the contract: both the agreement and the EB-3 visa itself specify a minimum of 12 months at the job. However, many people assume they are free to leave right after completing one year, which isn’t always the case.
The lawyer explained that if an interview with the consulate is still pending after 12 months and someone leaves their job, the U.S. government might view it as fraud or question their intentions, significantly increasing the chances of the visa being denied. He emphasized that the contract states "a minimum of 12 months" and that some applicants simply don’t read the fine print. Their explanation seemed convincing, and they came across as professional and transparent. What reassured me the most was that they didn’t try to pressure me into signing up, which is important. I’ve always believed that companies that pressure potential clients only come off as desperate. It reminded me of that children buffet service I liked, but they lied about another client wanting the same date just to push me into booking. That kind of behavior leaves a bad impression. BDV didn’t do that, so I felt a certain level of trust.
Later that evening, I had a meeting with the other company. The person assisting me didn’t inspire much confidence; they didn’t come across as particularly professional. But this company has much better reviews, which automatically gives you a sense of trust based on their reputation. The cost is similar to BDV’s, but I liked their payment plan better—it’s spread out over several months instead of requiring nearly $18,000 upfront, as BDV does. I appreciated that flexibility. The wait time for the visa process is about the same with both companies.
P.S.: I removed my review from Google. I think they were clear in their explanations, and it feels fair to leave a review after I’ve actually had the experience with them.
However, there was a major drawback with this second agency: they only had two job openings available. One was in a factory requiring heavy manual labor, which I can’t do, and the other was in Alaska. Don’t get me wrong—I like the cold and wouldn’t mind living in a cold place. But Alaska is incredibly far from the rest of the U.S., just like Hawaii, and the cost of living there is very high. If your dad doesn’t end up going with us, I’d be stuck alone in a remote state, dealing with snow, high rents, and the challenge of driving in icy conditions. If I’m going to pay a high rent, I’d rather be in San Diego, where I know people, have friends, and feel more comfortable because I’ve lived there before. Alaska feels too isolated, and I have serious doubts about it.
There was one other job I thought was fantastic—a position in Wisconsin, where That ’70s Show was set, and where Tayna’s old friend used to live. It was at a water park and seemed like such a fun opportunity. But unfortunately, that job had just been filled, so it wasn’t available anymore. If I go with this agency, Alaska is my only option at the moment.
When I brought this up with the person assisting me, they suggested I wait until January, as more positions might become available then. But waiting two months feels like an eternity when the visa process itself is already so long. I just want to sign up, get started, and know that everything is moving forward. Two months may not sound like much, but with a process as drawn-out as this one, trust me, it is.
On the other hand, despite BDV requiring most of the payment upfront, they offer a wide variety of cities to choose from. That’s a significant advantage. But I also wonder if having so many options is tied to the fact that their services are less personalized, which might explain the poorer reviews.
Now I’m stuck in an endless dilemma. Do I take a chance with BDV, go to Alaska, or wait until January? I honestly don’t know what to do.
06/11 Chapter 333: Good day, sunshine
Yesterday, your paternal grandparents arrived here in São Paulo. Today, you all planned a trip to the Museu da Imaginação—a place I didn’t even know about. But since I barely slept last night (let’s be honest, you don’t sleep much at night anymore, or at least not continuously), I was absolutely exhausted. So, I ended up skipping the outing and sleeping all afternoon.
Still, they had the best time with you. Your dad said the museum reminded him of the one we visited in San Diego. The tickets cost about R$75, and they said you had so much fun that you absolutely refused to leave—it was a real struggle to get you out of there! It makes me so happy to know there’s a place like this in São Paulo where I can take you again. They did mention, though, that weekdays are already busy, and weekends are probably chaotic. But I promise we’ll go back soon since you loved it so much. Maybe we can take Rafa next time too, right?
Your dad sent me a few videos and pictures, and I was overjoyed to see how much fun you had with him and his family.
Of course, your grandparents come to see your dad too—after all, he is their son. But I’m absolutely sure they also come because of you. When your dad lived here with me for a year before you were born, they didn’t visit. So, trust me, a big part of their visits now is because of you.
Your paternal grandparents aren’t as present as they’d like to be, and that’s really because of the distance. I’m sure if we lived closer, they’d be deeply involved in your life. I saw how attached they became to you—and you to them—when we spent that month in Barcelona at their house.
Distance is hard. Painful, really, no matter which way you look at it. In a perfect world, the ideal scenario would be living in a place you love, surrounded by the people you love. But most of the time, that’s just not possible—especially when you’re married to someone from another country. It makes balancing life and family on both sides even more challenging.
Today, though, was a wonderful day. I got the rest I desperately needed. You got to have fun, shower your grandparents with the love and attention they crave from you, and make your dad so happy by sharing that special time together.
07/11 Chapter 334: Under the sea
Today, I joined the outing. We went to an aquarium I’d never even heard of, despite living here in São Paulo. It was pretty far, near Parque Ibirapuera, so it took us a while to get there. We left after midday and arrived in the afternoon.
When we got there, we were shocked by the ticket prices—R$120 per adult! And, to make it worse, kids over two also needed a ticket. So, yes, we had to “adjust” your age again. Seriously, a two-year-old has to pay? That’s ridiculous. What made us even angrier was finding out at the ticket counter that they only accepted debit cards, no credit cards allowed. How does such a big, well-known aquarium in São Paulo not accept credit cards? Especially considering how many people rely on them—it’s just absurd.
The visit itself was nice, but nothing extraordinary. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much because aquariums don’t really interest me—there’s only so much you can see, right? But it was worth it just to watch you marvel at the animals and enjoy yourself. Still, I’d say you had way more fun yesterday than today. Your grandparents and your dad weren’t particularly impressed either, especially given the cost.
Just as we were about to leave, thinking we’d seen everything, we discovered a second section of the aquarium—and that part was much better! It made the experience feel more worthwhile, though I’d say a ticket price closer to R$75 would’ve been more reasonable. The first part, with the fish and snakes, was underwhelming, but the second section had kangaroos, exotic animals, penguins, and even a polar bear! I’d never seen one before, and while it wasn’t swimming, I did get to see it sitting there. Polar bears, by the way, are one of the most dangerous animals on the planet. I’ve read that being attacked by one is one of the most gruesome ways to go—they dismember their prey. Horrifying, right?
We spent about two to three hours there, and it was fun overall, but by the end, you were starting to get fussy and restless, so we decided to call it a day. On the way out, your grandpa bought you a blue Baby Shark balloon, which you clung to the entire time like it was your new best friend.
The ride home, though? Absolute chaos. I’ve never been stuck in traffic that bad in my life. It took us two hours to get back—basically the same amount of time it would take to drive to the beach. São Paulo’s traffic is getting worse by the day, and Fridays are the absolute worst. I still don’t understand why. And to top it off, it rained, which only made things about 70% worse. We were all exhausted from being stuck in the car, but thankfully, you slept through most of it.
We left the aquarium around 4 PM, planning to stop somewhere to eat. I had my heart set on this pizzeria I love—Massa na caveira—but they don’t open until 6 PM. The plan was to get back to the apartment around 5 or 5:15, rest for a bit, and then head to the pizzeria. But traffic was so ridiculous that we ended up arriving at exactly 6 PM, just as they opened. At least the timing worked out in the end.
We were the first ones to arrive and ended up eating a ton of pizza. It was such a great dinner, both for the food and the company. What’s fun about this pizzeria is that the pizzas are small, so you can try several flavors and really savor them. I noticed how much you enjoyed the dulce de leche pizza when it arrived—even though your dad wasn’t thrilled about it at first. But the highlight of the evening was when even his parents, who I’d say are usually pretty strict, told him to relax and let you enjoy it.
That moment felt like a turning point. If even his parents think he’s being too rigid, it’s a clear sign that he’s overdoing it. But he just doesn’t see it. Honestly, I’m so tired of dealing with this topic—it’s a constant battle in our daily lives. Still, I chose to focus on the joy of watching you relish that pizza. Even your dad couldn’t resist your happiness; he gave in, took a picture of you grinning from ear to ear, and posted it on his Instagram.
It’s moments like this that remind me what really matters. My dad once told me about a saying they have in Europe: they prefer a child who is well-behaved over one who is happy. But I believe you can have the best of both worlds. With me and your dad as your parents, you can grow up to be both well-mannered and incredibly happy. Childhood, whether he likes it or not, includes cartoons and sweets. That’s just part of it. I feel sorry for kids who don’t get to experience that balance.
08/11 Chapter 335: The world just wants to bring us down
Your grandparents are off traveling in Argentina now, and they’ll be back in about 10 days to spend another week with us.
In the meantime, the whole family is on edge because Adriano has been in the hospital for weeks, and now he’s in the ICU. Apparently, the doctors at Cruz Azul can’t figure out what’s wrong. He went in for back surgery and came out with severe pain and complications, which seem to point to a hospital-acquired infection. It’s worth noting that this is the same hospital where I once caught an infection and ended up hospitalized.
Sweetheart, I don’t know if I’ve told you this story before. After all, there are 32 years of stories in my life, and I can’t remember if I’ve shared every single one. So, if you’ve already heard this, I’m sorry—you’ll have to read it again.
When I was 3 years old, I had bronchitis, just like you do. But one of those episodes turned into pneumonia, and I had to be hospitalized. It was at the same hospital Adriano is in now. Like him, I developed a hospital-acquired infection, and the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. My condition kept getting worse; I was wasting away because I couldn’t eat, growing weaker by the day.
Desperate, my parents called my private doctor, the one who had always cared for me. He finally figured out what I had, but by then, I was at death’s door. The doctors said the antibiotic he prescribed was the last one available to try. If it didn’t work, there was nothing else they could do.
Can you imagine what that night must have been like for my parents? Knowing that either the medicine would work or their little girl wouldn’t make it? After so much suffering, the antibiotic worked. It turned out I had an infection caused by a bacteria called Staphylococcus.
The entire family rallied together. They made promises, prayed, and created a beautiful wave of support—just like the one you had during your second hospital stay.
My parents often tell me how I couldn’t eat anything at the time. There’s this story about how my dad, consumed by dispair forced some yogurt into my mouth—even though I nearly threw up. At one point, the doctor asked them what I liked to eat, and they said ice cream. He suggested giving me that since it had milk and eggs, and it might at least offer some nutrients. So, they gave me ice cream. My mom also remembers how a relative brought me a yogurt called Danoninho, and it was one of the few things I managed to eat. My parents were so grateful for even that small victory.
Back to Adriano—everyone is deeply anxious. Each day seems to bring more bad news, more questions, and no answers. Whenever someone is moved to the ICU, it’s impossible not to worry. Aunt Cuca is heartbroken, terrified at the thought of losing her husband, and Pietra and Igor are grappling with the fear of losing their father. We’re all holding on to hope and sending him as much positive energy as we can.
I should tell you, this marks our fourth Christmas in a row overshadowed by tough times. The first was because my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. Thankfully, the family acted quickly, and everything went well with the surgery, but it was a huge scare so close to the holidays. I remember that on Christmas Day, everyone wore a shirt with his picture on it to celebrate and give thanks.
And here we are again, waiting, hoping for the best.
The second Christmas was with Rafinha in the ICU, also because of bronchitis. He was literally discharged on Christmas Eve and “surprised” the family—quotation marks because everyone found out, though my sister still doesn’t know to this day—by showing up on Christmas Eve with a loudspeaker blasting Christmas music. It was such a beautiful moment.
I was feeling really down that year because it was your first Christmas, and I had dreamed of celebrating it with you and my nephew. But instead, it was a rollercoaster of worry with him in the ICU.
The third Christmas was with you in the ICU. You were discharged a few days before Christmas, and now here we are, the fourth year with Adriano. It feels like Death has been circling our family, but we’re strong and united enough to say, Not here, not us.
I can’t help but wonder—who’s next year’s target? I like to think you and Rafinha are off the hook.
09/11 Chapter 336: State of bliss
I’ve finally made my decision. With some hesitation but a lot of excitement in my heart, I signed the contract for San Diego and made the initial $6,000 payment. After filling out a few forms, the next step will be having the sponsor sign on my behalf at the end of January.
Even though I have the natural fear of losing so much money or things not going as planned, I feel relieved. I feel happy knowing I have a plan in motion, something concrete, and, most of all, that living here is temporary for now. There’s a huge difference between knowing you’re living in Brazil permanently and knowing it’s just temporary. That alone lifts a weight off my shoulders you can’t even imagine.
Of course, some people—your dad included—will probably criticize me for choosing San Diego, saying it’s such an expensive city and all that. But I have to follow my instincts and my heart. What I can promise you is that you’ll always have the essentials: a good education, health insurance, and food on the table.
I’m genuinely happy knowing that even if it takes years, I’m in the consular process. The joy in my heart is something I can’t even describe. But as thrilled as I am about finally taking this step I’ve been waiting for since 2022, my happiness isn’t complete.
I always imagined that when something finally worked out regarding the U.S., I’d celebrate with a bottle of champagne, go out for a special dinner, or at least order something fancy to eat. But I don’t feel like doing that alone. Not being able to celebrate with your dad makes everything feel so much less exciting.
He’s always said the U.S. wouldn’t be his first choice for a place to live. But honestly, he’s all over the place—one moment he says one thing, the next, it’s something else. I know he was excited when his former boss agreed to reapply for his visa, and I know he was deeply disappointed when the lawyer crushed that hope. I also remember when we were in San Diego, he said he’d love to live there. So, sometimes I wonder if this has become personal for him—maybe because I’m so passionate about it, he doesn’t want to give in. I don’t know; I can’t quite figure it out.
What I do know is that my happiness isn’t complete. And honestly, I don’t even know if your dad will join us. But I can’t keep putting my life on hold, waiting for things to fall into place or depending on someone else. I need to take action for myself, move forward, and hope for the best.
I know there’s a long road ahead—full of stress, tears, and likely some disappointments. But I truly hope the end result will be worth it.
It was a nice day—here’s to many more like it.
12/11 Chapter 337: When your world starts to fall
Today started out like any other normal day in our routine, and it was, until nightfall.
I put you to bed around 10:00 PM, and I had decided I would watch a movie in my own bed. I picked a movie called The Black Phone, which was supposed to be a horror film but ended up feeling more like one of those captivity thrillers about a kidnapped child—more suspense than horror, really—but I was enjoying it. You woke up crying twice, and by around midnight, I’d only watched about 30 minutes of the movie when you started crying again. I went in to calm you down, lay down beside you, and help you fall back asleep, because that’s become my new normal now—this new routine of you waking up over and over until you finally fall into a deeper sleep.
When I lay down next to you and had just gotten you back to sleep, I was about to leave the room and head back to my own bed. That’s when the unimaginable happened. The room was pitch dark, except for the faint light from the bathroom, which I had left on so it wouldn’t be completely dark, since you’ve been scared of the dark lately. There was just enough light to see something creeping along the wall above, moving from one side to the other. Even in the dim light, I could make out that it was a cockroach. My mind couldn’t process the information fast enough; my thoughts were a whirlwind of panic. The only thing I felt was this deep, overwhelming fear rising from my stomach to the top of my head—a terror that froze me in place, yet at the same time pushed me to run as fast as I could away from the thing I fear the most: the cockroach.
I’ve dedicated an entire chapter to that nasty insect and my phobia of it, even detailing the scientific name for this damn fear that disrupts my life. I don’t know why I have so many stories about this creature that terrify me beyond measure, even though I’ve always lived in apartments or my parents’ house, where cockroaches never appear. But I’ve had so many experiences with them that I truly believe this phobia tricks my brain. All I know is that across who-knows-how-many apartments—more than 40, I think—this vile creature always seems to find its way into mine.
With terror completely overtaking my body, I was absolutely certain it was a cockroach, because even in the near darkness, I could recognize it. What other creature could be that big, moving that quickly on the ceiling? My heart was racing, and I was sure it could only be her. Unable to think clearly, I left you still asleep and, as soon as it moved to the next wall, I bolted for the door, praying silently that this horrible creature wouldn’t fly at the exact moment I was passing through.
It wasn’t enough that I was a terrible mother for not picking you up and taking you with me; no, I had to be an even worse mother and kind of close the door with the cockroach still in your room. I did it to keep it from flying out, but in my panic-fueled state, I didn’t manage to close the door properly. In hindsight, that turned out to be a blessing, since it meant you weren’t locked in there with the creature, and it could’ve flown outside. I quickly ran to my room, which is literally across from yours, hid behind the door, and peeked through to see what would happen next. What happened was that it flew right in front of your door—a flying cockroach. As if the regular cockroach wasn’t bad enough, this one had to fly, intensifying my terror even more, if that was even possible.
The moment it flew toward the door, I slammed mine shut. In that adrenaline rush, I couldn’t think fast enough to shove towels under the door, even though I knew that these disgusting creatures can slip through any crack. The only thing I could do in that moment was grab my phone and dial your dad’s number.
Before I dialed, so many thoughts rushed through my mind, and I remembered a conversation I had with your dad about an offer my dad made for me to move in with them if your dad really did decide to move. I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you about this, but I’ll summarize it quickly. Your granddad sat me down and suggested it would be a good idea for me to live at my parents’ house if your dad moved out. That way, you’d have a father figure in the house, two people who love me and could help, and your granddad would leave the apartment for me so I could use the rent money to save for our future in San Diego, among other things. Of course, your dad didn’t like that idea at all. To be honest, even though it would be convenient, it’s not what I want either. When we reach a certain point in life, most people want their own space, their own freedom. I want you to have a routine, stability. I know that at your grandparents' house, it’s hard to have a set routine, but I explained to your dad that my father didn’t suggest it out of malice, but for practical reasons. I told him living alone was complicated, especially if something broke, or if I needed help. If a cockroach ever got into the house, I’d grab my things, lock up, and leave because I just can’t handle it—not with a slipper, not with insecticide, nothing. I can’t even get close to that creature. So, if one ever got in and I was living alone with you—especially when you’re too young to deal with it—what would I do? I literally gave him that example because it’s one of my biggest fears about living alone.
But I did live alone for a while when I was pregnant, for months, and I never had this fear. I was really careful about keeping the apartment clean, using cockroach poison, and taking all possible precautions. And for all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen a single cockroach. This place is very clean, they fumigate as often as they can, and there’s a cleaning lady who comes every day of the week to clean not only the ground floor but all the floors of the building. The garage, though, is usually the dirtiest place and most prone to having cockroaches, but I’ve never seen one. So, it's a clean place, and on top of that, I live on the fifth floor, which makes it much less likely for a cockroach to get in.
When we lived in our first apartment for over 20 years, a cockroach would get in maybe once a year, but it still happened! We didn’t have mosquito nets, just child safety nets to prevent anyone from falling, and the apartment was on a much lower floor. I also think the problem started after we moved some boxes from the supermarket. What was funny, though, was that we always knew there was a cockroach when our little cat, Toddy, started running around, tapping his paws on the floor. That’s when we knew—he was hunting cockroaches. The most important thing to note is that in that first apartment, the cockroaches got in because we didn’t have proper insect screens. I remember one time, I was sitting at the computer, which was in my parents' room for many years, and the computer was facing the window. On a very hot day, I had the window open, and a cockroach just flew into the child safety net and got stuck there. Roberta, who was my friend at the time, and I ran out of there so fast. But it could’ve literally flown right into my face since the computer was directly in front of the window. The net stopped it a little, but it eventually got in.
Anyway, I started thinking that the example I had given your dad was actually happening, and I couldn’t believe it. When I gave him that example, I honestly didn’t think it would happen, even though I had considered the possibility. But here I was, living it. It never happened before, but now, with him gone for a few days, it was happening to me. It didn’t seem fair!
I called your dad, and he answered after three rings, even though it was past midnight. When he picked up, I was stammering on the phone, telling him there was a cockroach. I was very careful, though, given the situation, and I immediately said "cockroach" because I didn’t want him to think something had happened to you. I was crying, stammering, and screaming, begging him to come help me, begging him for God's sake. He told me his phone was at 1% battery, so I needed to calm down, and he would try to get an Uber, but he wasn’t sure he’d make it because of the time and his battery.
I begged him to come, even if it meant walking. I was desperate—I couldn’t leave that room. I told him you were alone in the room with the cockroach, and I was already feeling so awful that he had to help me. I cried, cried, cried, and screamed. He said he had gotten an Uber and would be home soon. But then I thought: your dad had been here just a few hours ago, and I couldn’t remember if I had locked the door or not. I remember going to the kitchen, but I couldn’t recall whether I turned the key. I told him this, and he said I should check, because if the door was locked, he wouldn’t come for nothing. I screamed back, telling him I couldn’t check. I was frozen in place and wouldn’t leave that room for anything in the world. I thought the door was probably open because I really didn’t remember locking it. Usually, I lock the door every night, but there were times I forgot, and my memory wasn’t showing me locking it. So, I was hoping the door was open.
We hung up, and he was on his way. In the meantime, I called my parents. My mom answered, and the screaming and venting were the same. As soon as I said "cockroach," my mom immediately panicked, because no one knows better than her how much I suffer in these situations.
My mom panicked right along with me and immediately called my dad, telling him there was a cockroach at the house. She knows how much I suffer from this, and, even though she doesn’t have a phobia like mine, she’s also afraid of cockroaches.
I screamed, cried, and stammered to my mom on the phone. She passed the phone to my dad, who got even more nervous seeing me in that state, and he actually got mad at me, raising his voice firmly, telling me to stop acting like that. My dad isn’t afraid of anything, so he doesn’t understand what a phobia feels like. Much like your dad, I’ve never seen him truly scared of anything, so people who don’t experience that kind of paralyzing fear can’t fully understand it.
My mom was ready to rush over with my dad because she knew I wouldn’t be able to leave the room and deal with the cockroach, and she was worried about you, her granddaughter, being stuck in the room with that thing.
I try to think that, rationally, I know the cockroach can’t hurt you—it doesn’t bite, sting, or have venom. It wouldn’t harm you, and for now, you don’t have a fear of cockroaches. So, even if you woke up and saw it, you probably wouldn’t be scared. And, God forbid, if it touched you, you’d wake up right away, but it wouldn’t hurt you. I need to remind myself that if it were a snake, scorpion, or any other dangerous animal, my maternal instincts, my love for you, would be much stronger. I’d take you out of harm’s way without thinking twice, always putting you above myself. Because the truth is, I love you more than my own life, and I would give my life for you. But with the cockroach, I’m simply paralyzed.
What really scared me, sweetheart, was the thought of you waking up, starting to cry, and calling out for me. What would I do in that situation? The chance of you waking up was so high because I had just put you to bed, and your sleep wasn’t heavy yet. You’d been waking up constantly over the past few months, so the chance of you waking up was huge. I was desperate thinking about it. If you started calling for me, what would I do? I just couldn’t open the door and go to your room. I would have to pray that you would come to my door, knock, and I could quickly let you in. But what if the cockroach was there? My mind wouldn’t stop. What if I had actually locked the door? You’d wake up and cry before my parents got here, for sure. But I was almost certain the door wasn’t locked.
It was clear that your dad had completely shattered any hope I had left when he wrote to me on WhatsApp: "Open." I tried calling him, but as soon as he sent that message, his battery died. So, he was knocking at the door, trying not to ring the doorbell to avoid waking you up, and I couldn’t respond to him. At one point, I let out a scream saying I couldn’t open the door, and I think he heard it. But I didn’t scream too loud so I wouldn’t wake you up. Just imagine my situation! Now, with your dad at the door trying to get in, it became yet another problem I had to figure out. What would he do out there? Would he leave? I started thinking about calling our neighbor, Otávio—the same one my dad was planning to take legal action against if he kept fining Marquinhos' mom. He answered the phone a bit startled. I quickly apologized, crying uncontrollably, and explained that your dad was at the door, and I needed him to tell your dad that I couldn’t open it.
Otávio handed the phone to your dad, and he tried to convince me to open the door, giving me one of his motivational speeches, saying that I was strong, that I could do it, and that it would be an opportunity to overcome my fear a little. But again, people who don’t have that kind of fear just can’t understand the depth of the situation.
I told him I simply couldn’t do it. It was stronger than me. The cockroach could be right behind the door, and as soon as I opened it, it might fly at me or I could step on it. It could be anywhere in the house, even by the door I had to open for him. He kept insisting that I needed to open the door so he could resolve the situation. I started crying even more, telling him not to pressure me, that I just couldn’t do it. Then he responded, "So, what am I supposed to do out here?"
I called my mom, even more distressed, crying harder, telling her the door was locked. Right then, she told my dad, "Let’s go! We’re coming." They rushed over because she knows I wouldn’t be able to handle killing the cockroach. It was such a tough situation.
Time felt like it was dragging on for me, but I have to admit, my parents arrived in record time—about 15 minutes, when it usually takes them half an hour. Of course, we have to consider it was after midnight, so there was no traffic, and my dad must have been speeding with the pressure from my mom.
I called your dad and told him that my parents were coming and to hang in there because they would open the door for him. I also told him that he’d have to stay at our place tonight since there might be another cockroach or something—I was too scared to be alone at home. I believe your dad stayed there with Otávio until my parents arrived, and thank God, by the time they got there, you hadn’t woken up. That was truly a miracle.
My parents arrived quickly. My mom mentioned that the building manager had been extremely helpful, assisting them through the entire process of entering the apartment. I heard my father telling your father to grab you from the bed, and then I heard the sound of him entering the room. But instead of closing the door immediately, he placed you in bed and left the door open. I shouted at him to close the door—again, who doesn't have fear doesn't understand. You were deep in sleep, probably too tired, because you didn’t even stir when your grandfather’s voice echoed through the room.
I heard my father saying there was nothing—he wasn’t finding anything. I insisted he needed to keep searching. The apartment has plenty of places for things to hide: under the couch, under the shelves, under the wardrobe—anywhere. He had to find it. If not, I was ready to leave the apartment and go to my parents' house. Just the thought of a cockroach in my place, potentially nesting and crawling through our things, even our toothbrushes, made me feel sick to my stomach. I told my father to shake the clothes hanging on the door because I saw the creature scurry toward that very spot. He did, but found nothing. So, he resorted to spraying the room, and that’s when it emerged from under the wardrobe. Without hesitation, he crushed it with his slipper, despite his disgust. It’s rare that my father feels revulsion, but when it comes to cockroaches, he has no tolerance. He only kills them when it’s absolutely necessary. My mother came inside, and your father stepped out, saying the cockroach was enormous—one of those sewer types. I couldn’t bear to see it.
Without thinking, I ran into my father's arms and thanked him for everything. After all, they had driven several miles from another city in the middle of the night just to handle a cockroach. It may become a funny story to tell everyone later, but that night, it was nothing but terrifying.
Soon, they left, and I placed you back in your bed, still unaware of the chaos around you. Your father slept on the couch, keeping us company, but not before thoroughly checking my room to ensure no other cockroaches had made their way inside.
I couldn't sleep. It took a while for the adrenaline to wear off. Later, I realized the cockroach hadn't come from the boxes or under the door. In both your room and mine, we have windows with small gaps. I had left part of the window, where these little holes were, opposite the insect screen—so the only protection we had was a childproof screen. The cockroach had probably crawled through the childproof guard, just like it did in the story from my old apartment, slipping through that tiny hole and landing right in your room. What made me feel even more unlucky was that I live on the fifth floor, which is quite high up. Out of all the floors it could have chosen, it picked mine, the home of the woman with the greatest fear of cockroaches in the world. We can safely say the cockroach deserved its fate.
16/11 Chapter 338: Your love is my truth
Even though it’s sad that your dad is no longer here, I have to admit—being alone with you has given me a newfound sense of freedom. I feel so relieved to be able to do things my way, without feeling judged. I can spoil you more. And you, my love, seem to grow closer to me with each passing day. We share such a deep bond, a love so strong it feels unbreakable.
There’s nothing better than putting you to sleep at night—your little hands stroking my hair, playing with my ears. Even when that ear-tugging habit gets on my nerves sometimes, hearing you call out “Mommy” in the middle of the night, searching for me, melts my heart. Waking up to the sound of your tiny footsteps on our wooden floors, making your way to find me… I already know I’ll miss those little footsteps someday. One day, they’ll be replaced by sneakers or high heels—no longer the tiny, baby steps I hear now. Not long ago, it was the sound of your little knees and hands crawling across the floor. Every stage, every sound, is so unique.
It’s funny—before you came into my life, I used to think kids lost their charm after two or three years old. I thought they became annoying or boring. But having you, my very own daughter, living under the same roof and sharing life’s daily moments, I see how special this phase is. Babies are adorable, of course—their first giggles, their chubby cheeks. It’s like comparing a puppy to a dog, or a kitten to a grown cat. Baby animals, like human babies, have that unique cuteness that makes everyone melt.
But now, as you grow into a little girl, this is a whole new phase of love. You’re no longer a baby, but a child who loves in her own way, who understands and gives affection with intention. Your hugs, your kisses—they mean everything. I’ll never forget the first time you ran to the door to greet me after I’d been out. Your dad had been watching you, and you came bounding over, wrapping your little arms around me. My heart melted right there.
Watching you grow, seeing your hair get longer, your smile brighten, your curiosity bloom—it’s all so incredible. Each day, you learn something new, and I get to witness you becoming the amazing person you’re meant to be. That’s probably why, despite the pain of separation, I’ve managed to cope. I don’t feel alone because I have you. You’re my greatest dream come true, my best friend, my partner in life. I know you’ll never abandon me.
Of course, I’ve always had my parents, and they’ve never left me either. But this is different. You’re part of me—my little version of myself. The other day, after your bath, I was drying your hair and, for the first time in two years and two months, I saw myself in you. Your smile, your tiny front teeth with a slight gap, your delicate bangs, and your soft hair, the same shade mine was at your age… My daughter. My little girl.
I’ve been through so much in my past relationships, and while this time it’s a more mature kind of love, it doesn’t mean I haven’t suffered. But with you by my side, everything feels easier. Having a child changes your focus—your days are consumed by their health, meals, playtime, school runs, and everything else that comes with being a mom. There’s little time to dwell on your own problems, let alone external ones. In a way, it’s like a balm for the soul.
Thank you for being my companion, my light, my everything. Thank you for choosing me to be your mom and coming into my life.
PS: Adriano is still in a bad way. Dad is beginning to think he might not make it. Every day brings worse news—his condition in the ICU keeps deteriorating. How will Aunt Cuca cope without Adriano? She’s so young… And what about their financial situation? I know Adriano didn’t contribute much financially, but what he brought to their lives was immeasurable. We’re all so worried. The world will lose a kind-hearted soul who doesn’t deserve to leave so soon. We need to be strong for them and hold on to hope, showing them that we’re all in this together.
18/11 Chapter 339: Lost inside
Your grandparents are arriving soon, and your dad thought it would be a good idea for us to spend some time together at the beach. Mainly so they could enjoy some quality time with you. Honestly, I think it’s a lovely idea, but I find myself in a difficult position. Your dad and I aren’t together anymore, and the thought of traveling together and staying under the same roof is... painful. It’s not something I’m comfortable with.
For your dad, it’s easy—he acts like nothing’s changed. And, let’s be real, it’s also convenient for him to have me there. It’s not about wanting my company. I know he’d love to spend time with you and his parents, but there are practicalities involved. For instance, how would they get to the beach without a car? Right now, I’m the one with a car. They’d need to rent one, borrow mine, or work around my availability.
Then there’s you. You’re so attached to me, and I’m almost certain you wouldn’t stay with them without a lot of tears and fuss. Maybe for a night, but three nights? That seems impossible. You’ve never even stayed three nights with your grandparents, and you’re perfectly comfortable with them. With your dad, though, it’s a different story. For reasons I don’t quite understand, you reject him. It’s hard to watch. It hurts him, of course, but it hurts me too. I don’t know why you feel this way about your dad.
I joke with your dad sometimes, saying it’s like the movie 50 First Dates, where the protagonist falls in love with a woman who has short-term memory loss. Every day, he has to win her heart all over again, as if they’re meeting for the first time. That’s how it feels with you and him. Every time he sees you, it’s like starting from scratch—you reject him, run away, or even when he calls on the phone, you’ll swat at the screen, saying, “I don’t want to talk to him.” It’s something you don’t do with me or your grandparents.
But I know this is just a phase, and one day it will pass. When you’re older, reading this journal, you’ll probably think, Did I really act like that with Dad? But I love him so much. I know you will. Deep in my heart, I know how much love you’ll have for him. That doesn’t make it any easier for him right now, though—or for me to watch.
Sure, he made mistakes in our relationship, just as I did. But as a father? Despite being a bit extreme with some things and overly relaxed about others, whether we agree or not, he is an amazing dad. He loves you more than anything in the world. This rejection you have towards him shouldn’t exist.
Sometimes I wonder if this stems from my pregnancy. I’ve never fully believed those stories about how babies “know” what’s happening during pregnancy. It’s hard to imagine a baby understanding languages or feelings before they’re even born. What I do believe, though, is that babies recognize voices—those who were consistently present and spoke to them while they were in the womb. That makes sense to me.
But it’s difficult for me to think your rejection comes from those early days when he wasn’t around much. Could it really be because you didn’t hear his voice as often? Could you somehow sense the uncertainty he had back then, when I spoke to others about it, or even to him in videos I sent, trying to work things out? He didn’t know if he wanted to be part of your life. But there’s no way you could have understood those words, right? You couldn’t have grasped that situation.
Still, the thought lingers in my mind. Maybe, on some level, there’s a connection. It’s so real and so present that I sometimes wonder if it’s true. If it is, I hope one day you let go of those feelings, because your dad loves you more than anything. You’re his world.
Take my dad, for example. You adore him endlessly. But he didn’t talk to you while you were in my belly, nor did you hear his voice often. When I was pregnant, I lived alone, and you only heard my dad on weekends when I visited. So, is your bond with him just natural affection? Maybe. But we’ll probably never truly understand what’s going on inside you—not now, and maybe not even when you’re older.
Back to the trip. If I don’t go, and you end up crying a lot or causing trouble, they might have to cut the trip short. That would mean wasted time and money. It’s a big risk. And honestly, I do think you’d struggle without me for several days. Plus, let’s face it—caring for a young child is always easier when two people share the load. It’s not just about convenience; it’s about dividing responsibilities. I hesitate to call it a “task” because taking care of you doesn’t feel like a task. It’s a responsibility, yes, but one that’s filled with love.
I’m torn. On one hand, it would be wonderful to spend time with you at the beach. Especially knowing your grandparents and your dad are exploring homes in Riviera—a place I’ve always been curious about. I've heard great things about this place. Plus, they’d cover all the costs—the house, gas, tolls—so it would be a free trip. I’d get to watch you play and laugh on the beach, a place you absolutely love. Your happiness is my happiness.
But on the other hand, this is your dad’s idea. He chose this. And us traveling together blurs the lines—it makes us seem like we’re still a family in practice, even though we’re not. It’s a tough situation for me, as I mentioned before. For him, it seems so much easier.
21/11 Chapter 340: Keep holding on
I decided we should go to Riviera, and off we went. We left home a little after noon since it didn’t make much sense to leave earlier—you couldn’t check into the house until around three anyway. I figured Riviera was about a two-hour drive, maybe a little less, and it ended up taking us just about that long to get there.
Before hitting the road, we stopped to fuel up, check the tire pressure, and make sure everything was set for a smooth trip. But what had your dad and me worried was that last night, you started sneezing a lot and had some congestion. Whenever you get like that, an alarm goes off in our heads—it’s rarely just a passing thing. Most of the time, it develops into a respiratory issue, though there’s always a small chance it won’t.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. Your grandparents visit so rarely, and now they were here, only to find you sick? Not to mention, we almost never get to take a trip together, and now that we finally had the chance, we were all on edge, hoping you wouldn’t get worse during the trip. I just kept crossing my fingers that this would be one of those times it wouldn’t escalate, so we could all enjoy the beach—and make the most of the money they spent on this getaway.
You sneezed a lot on the way there, but eventually, you dozed off. Even though it was just a two-hour drive, it felt exhausting, especially for me as the driver. The road was pretty bad—potholes everywhere—but at least there were no tolls.
When we arrived in Riviera, I was amazed. Everything I’d heard about the place was true. It’s modern, spotless, and so different from Santos. The houses and buildings were stunning, each one more luxurious than the last. It made you feel like you were in a millionaire’s paradise. People were out jogging with their phones strapped to their arms, the streets were impeccably clean—I was impressed before we even stepped foot in the Airbnb.
The apartment didn’t disappoint either. It was spacious and cozy, and, as always, I nailed the Airbnb choice. Your dad even said I have a knack for finding great places.
We tried to settle in quickly since it was already late afternoon. The plan was to squeeze in a short beach trip to check out the shore, which was less than a ten-minute walk from the house.
After unpacking, we set out. But you wouldn’t let go of me. Your grandma tried to hold your little hand, but you only wanted Mommy. That’s the downside of me being there—when I’m around, you focus all your attention on me. If I hadn’t come, maybe you’d have bonded more with your grandparents. But honestly, I think you just can’t be away from me yet, and if we’re going to try that, it probably shouldn’t be this far from each other.
We walked hand in hand to the beach. You wore your little sunglasses, and we brought a change of clothes just in case. Your grandma lent me a jacket, which was a lifesaver. It was warm, but the wind was relentless. I hadn’t packed for cooler weather, thinking it would be sweltering like it had been all week. Thank goodness for that jacket—without it, I’d have frozen. I’m not usually sensitive to the cold - just in bed - so if I felt chilly, you know it was actually cold.
When we reached the beach, the weather took a turn. It started drizzling—not a downpour, but that annoying, persistent mist that gets under your skin. We huddled under a tree where the rain couldn’t reach us as much, and you managed to play a little. We stayed less than 20 minutes, but it was enough to make you happy to see the ocean.
On the way back, I had my hopes up about eating somewhere fun and unique, just to explore the local vibe. But we ended up eating at home instead—pasta with beef. It was good, but as usual, you refused to eat anything.
Things went downhill quickly after the beach. You became cranky, crying and fussing nonstop. That’s when we realized you really were getting sick. We started the nebulizer treatments and gave you your meds, but by nighttime, your breathing got worse. We had to use the Aerolin rescue inhaler, and thankfully, it worked—we avoided a trip to the hospital.
Now we’re just hoping you feel better tomorrow so we can enjoy a full day at the beach together. Let’s see how it goes.
out it some more and figure out what feels right. We’ll see how this unfolds.
22/11 Chapter 341: A mistake too great to hide
We woke up excited—your breathing had finally improved, the rain had stopped, and we could finally head to the beach.
When we arrived, I gave you some space to enjoy time with your grandparents and your dad while I brought along my book, The Brightest Star in the Sky, which I’m absolutely hooked on. It’s such a great read—too bad there isn’t a movie adaptation. I always get extra excited when a book I love has a film version; it’s like seeing the story come to life. But then there’s the inevitable disappointment when the characters don’t look anything like you imagined. These days, I’ve started visualizing specific people for each character, printing out photos, and sticking them in the book so I only picture that face while I read.
Back to our beach day—while you played in the sand, building little castles and having fun with your dad and grandparents, I settled into my chair, didn’t even glance at my phone, and dove into my book. I read and read, completely immersed. Of course, I eventually joined you for some sandcastle fun, but then I happily returned to my reading.
After about an hour, I noticed your mood shifting—you were getting cranky. I could tell you were ready for a nap. These days, you love your sunglasses, and the only way you could settle down was with them on.
Once I slipped them onto your little face, you quickly dozed off in my arms. While you slept, I asked your dad to check if the tiny stand nearby had any pastéis. Honestly, I doubted it—they didn’t seem big enough to offer much. But to my surprise, when he returned with a can of beer, he said they did have pastéis, and ours would be ready in about 20 minutes.
I kept reading, enjoying the peaceful moment, but the pastel never came. Minutes ticked by, and still nothing. There I was, flipping pages, stomach growling, craving that pastel, but it was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t even complain to your dad because he was off strolling the beach with your grandparents, walking its full length, back and forth, exploring every corner—it was quite a large beach.
Nearly an hour later, I finally saw the guy bringing out pastéis. He handed some to the woman sitting in front of me. I called out to him, asking about mine, and he assured me it was on its way. I watched as he kept delivering pastéis, and it hit me—they must wait until they’ve got a certain number of orders before heating the oil and frying everything in one batch. It’s the only explanation because frying pastéis doesn’t take long.
Your dad showed up just as my pastel finally arrived. And let me tell you—I savored every bite. I even told him it was one of the best pastéis I’d ever eaten. Now, whether it was genuinely amazing or I was just starving is up for debate. I think I’ll have to come back and try it again, but next time not on an empty stomach, just to be sure.
After your cozy nap in my arms, we headed back to the apartment. I noticed your breathing wasn’t great again, so I decided to give you another Aerolin treatment. On our way back, I couldn’t help but admire how clean this city is—something I’ve never seen in Brazil, especially in a beach town. The streets, the sidewalks, even the beach itself—everything was spotless. It’s incredible how different it feels compared to other nearby beaches. The management, the locals, the tourists—it’s like a completely different world.
I loved this place so much that I started checking out the prices of the apartments here. But, of course, the good ones were all over 2 million, way out of reach for us. Oh well, a girl can dream, right?
When we got back to the apartment, your bad mood persisted—a sure sign that things weren’t quite right. To lift your spirits, your dad and I decided to take you to the hotel pool for a bit. Thankfully, it was heated, and you had such a great time splashing around that we all ended up enjoying ourselves.
Afterward, the three of us headed straight for a shower. That’s when your dad noticed his back was sunburned, and I realized I was completely burned. For me, this is the stuff of nightmares. Being so fair-skinned, any sunburn leaves me bright red and in unbearable pain. Thankfully, we’d put sunscreen on you—and by "we," I mean your dad. He deserves the credit for that. My only contribution was packing it in the bag.
Because the weather had been so cloudy and gray, I didn’t think we’d need sunscreen for ourselves, so I didn’t even bother bringing mine. But yours? That, we made sure to bring, and it saved you from sharing our fate. Your dad and I, on the other hand, were both sunburned—but I was absolutely fried from head to toe. My back, shoulders, legs, face, even my scalp—everything was red and painful. As the hours passed, the pain worsened, and so did the redness.
That night turned into a challenge. You were sick, we were burned, and to top it all off, you hadn’t pooped in three days and were crying from the discomfort. It got to the point where your dad had to make a pharmacy run to buy a suppository to help you out. This is the same liquid product often used before medical procedures to empty the intestines. Usually, it works within seconds. But when we used it on you, it took a few agonizing minutes before it finally worked.
And what a scene it was. You screamed and cried in pain, and we had to move you to the shower to let you go on the floor. Your dad was so worried we might’ve done something wrong, but the truth was you were just so constipated that it needed to be done. Earlier, your grandma had suggested trying a simple syringe with water instead, and although I was against it, I gave in since I was outnumbered. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work, so we had no choice but to use the medication.
When it finally worked, it was a huge relief for everyone—but the ordeal left you so upset that your breathing worsened again. Whenever you get sick and upset, your breathing always seems to take a hit, which is such a worry. Now, all we can do is hope you’ll feel better so we can enjoy our last two days at the beach.
I’m scared you might not improve, though. If tonight doesn’t go as well as the previous one, we may have to cut the trip short and head back to São Paulo to take you to the hospital.
As for me, I need to figure out how to sleep tonight. Lying on my back is out of the question—it’s just too painful. Let’s hope for a miracle all around.
And here's a picture of my mistake, to great to hide.
23/11 Chapter 342: This is how it ends
Today didn’t go at all as planned. For starters, besides dealing with the pain from my sunburn, we went through the whole routine with the nebulizer and medication, but your breathing didn’t improve, so we knew the next step was the hospital.
We considered taking you to the hospital here in Riviera, but the thought of you being admitted to a hospital we didn’t know, far from home, made us uneasy. So, we did what we hoped to avoid but knew was the right choice—we left early in the morning and headed back to São Paulo. This time, we went to São Luís Hospital, which I chose because a client of mine once told me her son was treated in their ICU and had a great experience. I’d also heard good things about the place, so it felt like a safe option.
Well, this is how our trip ends.
I don’t even need to say how exhausted I was, do I? Driving back just a day after we’d arrived, retracing the entire route, and then heading to a hospital far from where we live—it was draining. And to top it off, your grandparents didn’t have anywhere to stay since we’d planned to spend two more days at the beach. I invited them to stay at my parents’ house, which we planned to go to after leaving the hospital—God willing.
When we got to the hospital, I expected it to be packed since it was a weekend morning, but it wasn’t too crowded. You were seen quickly, and they started the usual treatment: a puff of Aerolin every 20 minutes, repeated three times. Your breathing improved after that, but the doctor found you had an ear infection and prescribed a five-day course of antibiotics.
Your dad wasn’t too fond of the doctor, and while I didn’t want to stir the pot, I agreed—she seemed inexperienced despite her age. Still, she prescribed the antibiotics, which gave me some peace of mind. From there, we went straight to my parents’ house.
Your dad mentioned that your grandparents had wanted to stop by the apartment to rest, but I insisted we go directly to my parents’. I think your grandparents felt awkward about staying with them, worried they might be unwelcome because of the history between me and your dad. But that wasn’t the case—my parents genuinely like them.
When we arrived, the reception couldn’t have been warmer. Your grandparents settled in, I managed to get some rest, and everyone had a chance to relax. The plan was to stay the night and head back to normal life tomorrow.
The rest of the day was pleasant, though we kept a close eye on your breathing and started your treatment right away. Of course, with you around my parents, you gave them more attention than your paternal grandparents. It’s not intentional, just the result of spending much more time with my parents. It’s a little sad, but understandable, especially given how small the apartment is and how complicated things have been.
Now we’re just hoping you continue to improve, that we won’t need another hospital visit, and that we can make these last few days with your grandparents as calm as possible.
One thing surprised me, though. Just as you were about to be discharged from the hospital, your grandparents suggested we go back to the beach. I immediately said no—I wasn’t about to drive all that way again for just one more day, only to drive back right after. Besides, your recovery wasn’t guaranteed. What if we needed another hospital visit? I understand they wanted to spend more time with you, especially alone, away from my parents, given how much they spent on the trip. But unfortunately, not everything is in our control. When things take a turn like this, we have to adapt.
24/11 Chapter 343: All eyes on you
Today, the plan was all set. We'd wake up, grab some lunch, and then head to São Paulo so your grandparents could check into the Airbnb they’d rented. Since the booking wasn’t refundable, they decided to go ahead and stay there. Besides, your dad had a medical appointment early the next morning, far from where we live, but much closer to the subway and the doctor’s office. This exam was a requirement for his new job, which starts in just two days. Yep, your dad finally got a job here in Brazil! Thanks to my friend Camila, who’s married to Danilo—we’ve become good friends over the years. They’re the ones with Maria Fernanda, their 10-year-old daughter.
But your dad only agreed to work part-time so he could still focus on his tattoo business and have time for the things he loves, which is totally valid.
The thing is, the atmosphere between your maternal and paternal grandparents had been so good that my mom suggested they stay an extra day and just let the Airbnb payment go. After all, they’d already lost the Riviera booking, which was even more expensive. Initially, your grandma Laura told my mom she wanted to spend as much time as possible with your dad because she missed him so much. But later in the day, she came to me, saying she’d talked to your grandpa and dad, and they thought staying one more night would be a great idea. That way, we could all watch a movie together. Afterward, your dad could take my car and spend the night at the apartment, then drive to his exam in the morning. I was the one who suggested the car—it’s a completely different experience waking up at 6:00 a.m. to catch the subway versus driving comfortably to your appointment.
Everyone loved the plan. Your dad would use my car to go to his appointment, then come back to pick us all up afterward. The following morning, your grandparents were set to leave for Barcelona.
Even though I was trying to give my attention to everyone, I was also swamped with packing orders for the next day. Four suitcases had just arrived from the U.S., so I was doing my best to pack as much as I could without sacrificing quality time with everyone.
Your grandpa Ronaldo was prepping the barbecue—Brazilian-style, of course. Your paternal grandparents love the picanha, garlic bread, and pão de queijo (though we had the cheese bread for breakfast, not at the barbecue). My dad got the grill going, making sure everyone was happy and well-fed.
As soon as the grill was lit, your dad immediately told everyone to close the door. You’d been sick with a cold, fresh out of the hospital from the day before, and we’d even cut our trip short because of it. He was absolutely right to be cautious. He mentioned it to my mom, who passed it on to my dad—but, funny enough, she claimed my dad had already said the same thing, even before your dad brought it up. Your dad didn’t hear that part, though, but my mom insisted it was true.
Despite all the precautions, there was a moment when Grandma Laura forgot and accidentally took you outside near the smoke. My dad was the one who reminded her and told her to bring you back inside. She quickly realized and took you back in right away.
We had a pleasant afternoon filled with good conversations, and later, we decided to watch a movie together before your dad left.
Before we watched the movie, my mom and Grandma Laura took you and your cousin Rafinha to my sister Tayna’s house. She’d watch over you both so we could finally sit down and enjoy a movie without any worries. They took a while there, chatting, and when they came back, just as we were about to start the movie, your dad came up to me and said out of the blue, “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. Take the grill earlier today—if I hadn’t been here, and if I hadn’t remembered, no one else would have. So how am I supposed to worry less when you all act so irresponsibly and don’t care about these things?”
Ah, for crying out loud. It was all going so well—too good to be true, really. There always has to be some kind of argument, doesn’t there? Your dad started stirring up trouble over something that didn’t even happen. Who’s to say my mom wouldn’t have remembered? If I hadn’t been so focused on packing orders, knowing you were surrounded by your dad and your grandparents, I would have been more attentive to you. And he doesn’t even realize my dad had already told my mom the exact same thing about the grill before he did.
But there he was, arguing, making judgments about something that never actually occurred, fighting over some hypothetical situation he thought would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. That’s exactly what I told him. I explained I was working, and then he shot back, “You’re always working.”
Well, someone has to, right? And besides, I wasn’t ignoring you—I knew my parents were keeping an eye on you. This time, it wasn’t just them; there was a whole team looking out for you. My parents, your dad, and even your paternal grandparents were there. So why did it have to fall on me while I was trying to get work done?
I told him that knowing so many people were around gave me peace of mind, and sure, if no one else had been there, it would’ve been my responsibility. But it’s unfair to start a fight over the assumption that I wouldn’t have remembered. Why create drama over something that never happened and that he can’t even prove would’ve occurred?
Maybe he is more cautious in these situations, and I can admit that’s a good thing. But to start a fight in that moment? It made no sense. Especially when we were all there, trying to enjoy ourselves, hosting everyone, making sure they felt welcomed, preparing a nice meal. We were just about to sit down and watch a movie together. Timing and place matter, and this was the worst possible moment for that argument.
And of course, once we started arguing, everyone around us noticed. It made things awkward. My parents, who’ve been gracious enough to open their doors to his parents despite their feelings about our separation, were now stuck in the middle of this tension. Your dad brought that uncomfortable atmosphere into their home, and I was so upset.
Since his parents were there, we asked for their opinion. You could tell they were hesitant to get involved—they didn’t want to take sides. But your paternal grandpa did speak up. He said he’d noticed my dad reminding everyone to close the door multiple times and how concerned he was about the smoke. Still, your dad kept pressing them, trying to get them to agree that it was my responsibility, that everything always falls on him, and so on.
I could feel the tears welling up—a knot forming in my throat. I hate that feeling. It’s like holding back a cry that desperately wants to escape. You know when you’re holding in a fart because you’re in a room full of people you don’t feel comfortable with, and you do everything possible to keep it in? It gets uncomfortable, even painful. That’s exactly how it feels with a knot in your throat. You want to cry, but you’re holding it back so hard it starts to hurt.
And sometimes, despite all your effort, the tears just slip out anyway. They spill over uncontrollably, and with them comes that tight, aching sensation in your throat. It’s an odd, almost unbearable mix of emotions.
I couldn’t understand why all that was happening after such a pleasant, enjoyable day—just moments before we were all supposed to sit down and watch a movie together. Over something that hadn’t even happened. The tears kept threatening to fall, and I was trying so hard to hold them back. But you know how our voice changes when we’re choking back tears—it’s obvious. And, of course, everyone noticed I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t, not in front of his parents. Especially not when the reason was their son, speaking to me that way.
I felt so sad—not angry, not mad—just shattered. I couldn’t understand. I was doing my best, trying to make his parents feel welcome, working hard, doing everything I could. One moment everything was fine, and the next, it wasn’t.
So I ended the argument, suggesting we go watch the movie. But first, I had to step outside through the kitchen door, find a hiding spot, and let out that cry that had been stuck in my throat. It wasn’t loud—it was quiet, almost inaudible—but I needed to let those stubborn tears flow.
To my surprise, my mom found me. I don’t know how, since I thought I’d hidden well behind the cars. But you know how moms are—they just know. She understood. She told me your dad is difficult to deal with, but what upset her the most was how he created such an awkward situation in their home, at that moment, while they were hosting his parents. Why couldn’t he have waited to talk to me about it later? Now, everyone was left feeling uncomfortable.
She reassured me that my dad had been concerned about the smoke even before your dad said anything, something I’d already tried to explain to him. But he denies it—he insists he brought it up first, and there’s no point arguing.
So often, I tell your dad something, and he later claims I never said it. According to him, I must’ve thought it but never actually said it. That makes me so angry. It makes my blood boil. I know what I said—I heard myself say it. Yet he’ll tell me, “No, you didn’t. You just thought it.” It never crosses his mind that maybe he didn’t hear me, or that he was distracted and missed it. No, to him, it’s always my fault.
Yes, sometimes I do have this habit of speaking softly. I don’t know why. Even when I say “thank you” to people, it often comes out barely above a whisper. But I know I speak. I know the words leave my mouth. And there’s nothing more infuriating than knowing you said or did something, only for someone to insist you didn’t.
Anyway, when we finally sat down to watch the movie, your dad asked if we could talk. I said no. He asked again, and I was firm—I didn’t want to talk to him. I was sad, and I just wanted to sit there and watch the movie. So that’s what we did.
I picked a movie I thought his parents would like more than my mom and I would. Turns out, I actually enjoyed it, though my mom didn’t, everyone else did!
27/11 Chapter 344: Give my head a break
Today, I had a very important medical exam scheduled at a hospital quite far from where we live in São Paulo. My ENT specialist had requested this specific test to diagnose labyrinthitis. It wasn’t available at conventional labs, and even finding a private clinic that offered it was a challenge. Eventually, we located this specialized hospital that deals with ear, nose, and throat issues, but the private test cost over R$700. Thankfully, I’m fortunate to have my dad, who never hesitates when it comes to spending on health. Your grandfather is amazing when it comes to material support—he’s far from materialistic but will do whatever it takes for the family without a second thought.
He drove what felt like an eternity to get to the hospital near Parque Ibirapuera. I’d heard the test was simple—nothing painful or invasive. After checking in, I got frustrated when I ended up waiting over an hour despite arriving on time. It’s so irritating to be punctual and still face delays, even when paying for private care. Finally, a seemingly kind, elderly doctor called me in. Once inside, they placed a device on my face resembling a virtual reality headset and asked me to focus on a spot on the wall. A monitor nearby tracked everything as I stared ahead.
After some time, I overheard the doctor and his assistant mentioning we were nearing the end. They said everything appeared normal so far. That brought some relief, but it also left me uneasy—if it’s not labyrinthitis, what’s causing my dizziness? Will anyone figure out what’s wrong with me? These thoughts were abruptly interrupted when they removed the headset and asked me to focus on the spot again while they moved my head up, down, and sideways. That’s when the ordeal began.
What seemed like a straightforward test turned into a nightmare. As they manipulated my head, I felt an intense wave of nausea. It was that awful stomach-knot sensation you get when you’ve taken a pill on an empty stomach. I told them I was feeling sick, but they kept going until I finally said, "I’m going to throw up." The doctor quickly handed me a plastic bag, but try as I might, nothing came out. Vomiting doesn’t come easily to me; I could feel it teasing me, rising and falling in my throat, but never fully surfacing. I wanted it to just happen so I could feel better, but my body wouldn’t cooperate.
They decided to pause the test and sent me to the infirmary, saying they’d analyze the data collected so far. If they had enough, I wouldn’t need to return. Otherwise, I’d have to come back—and I prayed that wouldn’t be the case.
The assistant helped me to the infirmary as I leaned on her for support. Once there, the nurse took my blood pressure, and the monitor beeped like it does during emergencies. The nurse seemed alarmed, saying my blood pressure had dropped significantly. She immediately elevated my legs on the bed. She didn’t tell me the exact number, but her reaction and the monitor’s alert made it clear it wasn’t good. On top of the nausea and low blood pressure, one of my hands started tingling, which I later learned can happen during sudden drops in blood pressure. I’ve experienced low blood pressure before, but never with tingling sensations. Though not as dangerous as high blood pressure, it depends on how low it gets. I started to feel anxious and a little lonely—my mom usually accompanies me to these things, but since it seemed like a simple exam, I didn’t even think to ask her. She didn’t offer to come either, given how routine it appeared.
The doctor mentioned that nausea and vomiting weren’t common reactions to this test, nor were such drastic drops in blood pressure. But as I lay there, I couldn’t help but think it should be somewhat expected if someone with labyrinthitis has their head moved around like that, right? The doctor seemed kind but not entirely convincing.
I called my mom, and she was understandably worried, especially after the nurse asked if I had someone with me and I said no. I wasn’t sure how long it would take for me to feel well enough to drive home—or worse, if I’d have to retake the exam.
After some time in the infirmary, the doctor came back to check on me, but the nurse hadn’t recorded my blood pressure for him. They had to take it again. This time, the monitor didn’t beep, but it was still low. The doctor said I couldn’t leave until it stabilized. Eventually, after waiting a bit longer, he told me they had enough data from the test, so I wouldn’t need to retake it. That was a relief.
By the time I felt well enough to drive home, I was exhausted. On the way back, your dad called to say you’d been sneezing up mucus and felt a bit warm. You’d just finished a round of antibiotics that same day, but you weren’t back to 100%. Honestly, this was the first time I felt antibiotics didn’t make much of a difference for you. It’s worrying—you’ve had so many antibiotics since your first hospitalization with bronchitis that I’m afraid they’re becoming less effective. If, God forbid, you ever need them urgently, what if they don’t work?
It didn’t seem normal for you to still show cold symptoms after completing the medication, so I scheduled an appointment with our trusted pediatrician, Dr. Humberto, for tomorrow.
28/11 Chapter 345: Looking forward, not behind
I took you to see Dr. Humberto, and when we arrived, he examined you and said you still had an ear infection. He also pointed out that the doctor at the hospital had prescribed the wrong medication. That confirmed what we had suspected—that she wasn’t exactly the most reliable. Today, it was your grandma Simone who came with me. My mom is always there to help me.
This time, Dr. Humberto decided against prescribing the strongest antibiotic. He explained that, since you’ve been on so many antibiotics recently, he wanted to try something old-fashioned, a medication that used to be commonly prescribed but has since fallen out of favor. It’s called Bactrim—the same one the doctor who managed your vaccines every 10 days once recommended.
But unlike the previous medication, this one isn’t a once-a-day dose. It has to be given every 12 hours for 10 days. That’s always a hassle because antibiotics require strict schedules—no delays, no missed doses. I’ve even set alarms to avoid any slip-ups because one mistake, and the bacteria could come back stronger. On top of that, giving you medication is never easy. You always resist, and it often ends with me having to force it. It’s not fun for either of us.
On a brighter note, you’ve been talking a lot lately. Sure, most of it is baby babble, but there are words and phrases we can understand—well, ones only your dad and I really get. What’s adorable is how you mix English and Portuguese. I’m sure you’ll grow up to be one of the rare kids here in Brazil who’s fluent in more than two languages. Actually, I’m confident you’ll speak three.
I’ve been thinking a lot about moving to a bigger apartment. Since we’ll likely stay here for another two to five years, we need more space—especially with my work. My sales business means I’m constantly surrounded by bags and inventory, and there’s just no room for it all in this tiny apartment. I know it used to bother your dad, and honestly, it bothers me too. I like having a tidy, organized home, but sometimes, it’s just not possible.
I’ve saved R$500,000, and if I sell this apartment for another R$500,000, that gives us R$1 million to work with. We could move to a better place and maybe even rent it out later at a good price when we eventually move to San Diego. Having some income from Brazil converted into dollars, even just enough to cover health insurance, would make a big difference. Although, with the dollar getting more expensive and the Brazilian currency losing value, what seems like a lot here barely makes a dent in the U.S. Still, every bit helps.
This apartment holds a lot of memories. It used to belong to my dad, and when your father and I decided to live together, we swapped it for a piece of land I had in Serra da Cantareira. Back then, it felt like the right move. But now, it’s just me here, and these memories feel like they’re mine alone. I think it’s time for a fresh start—a new place without all these echoes of the past.
Whenever a significant relationship in my life has ended, I’ve always needed a change. After Marcelo, I had to switch schools—I couldn’t stand being in the same environment. Moving gave me a fresh start, new friends, and a new chapter. After Caique, which is a long story for another day, I left São Paulo altogether and went to San Diego. Staying here would have been unbearable. I’d have chased after him endlessly, humiliating myself even more. That move saved me from falling into another deep depression, like in 2009.
And now, with your dad, I think the change needs to be this apartment. I need something new, something that doesn’t carry all these memories. Who knows what the future holds—maybe we’ll work things out one day. But for now, I have to focus on the present, and in the present, we’re apart. A fresh start would only be good for both of us, and for our relationship, if it’s meant to be. Right now, though, I need to think about you, myself, and my own heart.
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