01/01 Chapter 358: A pain that sleeps inside
We all woke up past 11 and had a lovely, relaxing day by the pool. Afterward, we had lunch with leftovers from the night before, and then we treated ourselves to what was left of the brigadeiro pie—a perfect little indulgence.
Later, we played the chocolate game, which works like this: everyone brings a chocolate and chips in R$10. Since there were six of us, including you, the total prize was R$60 for the winner. All the chocolates are placed in the middle of the table, and six folded slips of paper are prepared—one of them marked as "unlucky." The person who draws the "unlucky" slip goes first to pick a chocolate but is automatically out of the running for the cash prize. The silver lining? The "unlucky" person gets first choice of chocolate, and there’s always one that’s extra special. So, while they lose the chance to win the money, they at least get the best treat.
After that, we prepared new slips with everyone’s names, and the person who drew "unlucky" called out the first name to continue the game. Maria Fernanda got the "unlucky" piece of paper, and the first name she called was your dad’s. Then, your dad—bastard—called my name, and so it went until we reached the winner. And guess who won? You! Looks like you’ve got a lucky streak, just like your grandpa.
But if you think about it, the odds weren’t really in your favor. The more people playing, the smaller your chances of winning, mathematically speaking. That’s why I’ve always thought the “unlucky” person isn’t so unlucky—they get first pick of the best chocolate, after all. To me, the ones in the middle are the real losers, especially the second-to-last player who’s left with the least desirable chocolates. So, in my opinion, the true winners are the first "unlucky" player and the one who takes home the money.
Later, I asked Camila if she wanted to check with Danilo about staying another night. She did, and Danilo managed to convince your dad to stay too. He just needed to call his boss and arrange to start work a little later the next day, which was doable thanks to his flexible schedule. So, we ended up enjoying one more evening together. This time, though, we didn’t stay up late playing games—we were all tired from the pool and the late night before. We went to bed earlier, but it was another wonderful day.
I really like Camila and her family. Thinking about it, I have four close friends now: Camila, Nádia, Girleide, and Raquel. That feels like a lot for my age. Friendships tend to fade as we get older, especially after having kids, but I’ve been lucky in that regard. Still, I’ve lost my share of friends over the years, and it hurt—a lot. Maybe I’ll use this book to share some of those stories with you, so you can understand the kind of scars friendships can leave.
I don’t want you to expect the worst in every relationship, but I do hope you’ll approach them cautiously. I’ve been hurt too many times—not just once, twice, or three times, but over and over. You already know about Artur, Laís and Karina but in this book, I’ll try to tell you about Caio, Camila, and Roberta. There are many more stories to tell. It's a pain that sleeps inside but it's time to let it out.
Let’s hope I don’t lose anyone this year and that 2025 will be a bright, beautiful chapter for us all.
04/01 Chapter 359: There Are Things That We Can Have, But Can't Keep
The year kicked off by dropping a bombshell in my lap—and in the laps of all Brazilians. I was already losing sleep over DREX, a new digital currency Brazil is planning to introduce. From what I’ve heard, it’s supposed to eventually replace the Pix system, track every penny people earn and spend, and ultimately phase out cash entirely. That was already enough to make me anxious. But then, on the second day of January, they hit us with something even worse: a plan to tax individuals with account activity over R$5,000 a month. For businesses, the threshold would be R$15,000.
Mind you, we’re not talking about receiving R$5,000 in multiple transactions—which would already have me in trouble—but the total amount moved in your account.
For instance, if you earn R$3,000 and make a payment of R$2,000, you could already find yourself on the radar of the Receita Federal (Brazil’s tax authority).
Let me break it down for you. Here in Brazil, employees pay a whopping 27.5% income tax every month. To give you an idea, someone earning R$6,000 a month is handing over R$1,650 in taxes. And that’s just income tax. On top of that, we pay annual taxes like IPVA (vehicle tax) and IPTU (property tax). Theoretically, when you stop renting and buy a car or a house, those things should be yours. But no, they’re kind of co-owned by the government because every year, you have to pay taxes on them—like an ongoing rental fee. For example, I pay R$3,500 a year just to keep my car. So, is it really mine, or is the government just letting me pretend it is while they take their cut?
Back to the Pix situation. The Receita Federal—arguably one of the most corrupt institution in Brazil—would start going after individuals who moved more than R$5,000 in a month and didn’t declare it.
Let me illustrate this with someone like Aunt Cuca. She works a regular job and earns R$3,000 a month. She already pays her share of that 27.5% tax, plus IPTU, IPVA, and all the other taxes the government dreams up. But her salary barely stretches to cover her bills—condo fees, utilities, internet. So what does she do? She finds a side hustle. Maybe she bakes cakes or sells homemade meals to make ends meet. Let’s say her side hustle brings in an extra R$3,000. It’s not declared, of course; it’s just a way to survive. Now the government wants to tax her for that additional income too, because it’ll show up in her bank account.
As for me, I work for my dad’s company, earning R$4,000 a month. After taxes, there’s not much left to take care of a family. So I started importing goods from the U.S. to resell, which gives me a nice extra income. But if this policy goes through, I’ll have to pay 27.5% on that too. And not just me—every Brazilian in a similar situation. It’s no wonder the whole country erupted. People weren’t talking about anything else.
Even folks who voted for Lula, self-proclaimed leftists, were outraged. It was wild to see so many of them criticizing this move.
In my panic, I asked my dad why this was being shoved down our throats without any discussion in Congress or a public vote. He explained that matters involving the Receita Federal don’t go to a vote. It wasn’t about blaming Congress; this was a direct government maneuver. No way around it.
For a few days, it was all anyone could talk about—on social media, in the streets, everywhere. For the first time, I saw people from both sides of the political spectrum uniting against the government. Of course, some media outlets tried to spin it, calling it fake news and insisting Pix itself wasn’t being taxed. The president and the finance minister even made statements to “clarify” that Pix transfers wouldn’t be taxed. But they were missing the point. Nobody was saying Pix transactions would be taxed. The outrage was about the new limits on account activity. They weren’t denying that part. They just kept debunking a claim nobody was making.
I spiraled. I cried a lot. I felt helpless. I kept remembering my dad saying back in 2022 “This won’t change anything for us,” but it was changing everything. First, they killed the profits I used to make importing from China. Then the soaring dollar wrecked international sales. And now this? How was I supposed to keep my business alive?
The only solution I could think of was to start accepting cash only. I’d have to figure out a system where the delivery guy would collect cash in envelopes when dropping off orders. But that came with its own risks—what if he got robbed? What if customers sent less than they owed? What about customers outside São Paulo who couldn’t pay in cash? The whole thing was a logistical nightmare.
Even my mom, who usually tries to defend the government just to convince me not to leave for the U.S., was panicked. Another policy had come into effect: individuals spending more than R$9,000 a month on their credit cards would also be investigated. My mom spends more than that just on household expenses and pet food. This time, even she couldn’t pretend everything was fine.
Meanwhile, pro-government media and die-hard leftists kept defending the changes, calling critics tax evaders and criminals. But this time, they were the minority. For once, almost everyone agreed: this was madness.
04/01 Chapter 359: These People Raised Me
My parents had been insisting for days that I let you visit them in Caraguatatuba. They were so eager that my dad came to pick you up at 2:00 PM so you could have fun at the beach with your little cousin and grandparents.
At first, I was really hesitant. I’ had this deep fear of a car accident, and the thought of you on the road with my dad made me nervous. He’s not as sharp as he used to be, though he’d never admit it. He’s getting older, and both your dad and I have noticed him making some mistakes while driving. Knowing you’d be on a long drive only added to my anxiety. I kept imagining things: how would he manage if you needed your diaper changed? What if he got distracted? And then there was the beach—I couldn’t help but worry about them taking their eyes off you for a second and you running toward the street or something dangerous happening.
But I reminded myself that my parents have raised children before—twice, actually—so they have much more experience than I do. These two raised my and MY SISTER and she was all over the place when she was a child. Just so you know, my dad wanted 3 kids and after my sister he gave up. But still, as a mom, it’s impossible to silence that voice in your head that constantly imagines the worst. When it’s your child, every little thing feels magnified, and the thought of something happening is unbearable. But my mom gave me a reality check. She told me that if I kept thinking this way, I’d never let you experience life. She was right—I needed to be more rational.
When I brought you downstairs to my dad, I was surprised and relieved to see that Giovanna had decided at the last minute to go along with them. She sat in the front seat, and I instantly felt more at ease. Having a woman’s touch with a baby makes all the difference, and I knew she’d help keep you calm, play videos for you on her phone if you got fussy, and assist my dad if needed.
However, as we were setting up your car seat, your dad noticed it wasn’t securely installed. That made us both nervous again. In the event of an accident, the seat could’ve flown out of place. He tried to adjust it, but it wasn’t the same model we use, and it took a while to figure out. He even suggested my parents get the same kind we have, but I had to remind him that they’d already gone out of their way to buy this one. If we weren’t happy with it, we should be the ones to purchase a new one for their car. Sometimes your dad forgets to think these things through!
You were set to stay in Caraguatatuba for four nights, the longest you’d ever been away from me. But technically, I’d only miss you for two full days. On Saturday, I stayed with you until 2:00 PM when my dad picked you up, so we had our time together. On Sunday and Monday, I wouldn’t see you, but by Tuesday night, you’d be back, and we’d have the evening to snuggle. So, when you think about it, it’s really just two full days apart.
I was confident you’d manage. You’ve stayed with your grandparents before for two nights without any issues. Four nights would be a new milestone, but with your cousin Rafinha there to keep you company, I felt optimistic. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how you’d handle it. Only time would tell.
My worries melted away as soon as Giovanna sent me a video of you arriving in Caraguatatuba, running around happily and laughing. Seeing you with my mom and Rafinha filled my heart with joy, and I knew I’d made the right decision.
I have to admit, the idea of having four days to myself was exciting too. It’s been ages since I’ve had uninterrupted time to organize your photos and videos, catch up on work, or just sit down and watch a movie. I knew that when you came back, I’d feel recharged and ready to be fully present with you again.
You’ve just arrived in Caraguatatuba and haven’t even made it to the beach yet, but I already know you’ll be thrilled tomorrow when you see the sand. You’ve always loved the beach. This experience is teaching me to let go of my fears and trust the people who love and care for you. My worries are valid, and being cautious is part of being a mom, but I need to find a balance—learn to live with those fears while still giving you, and myself, room to enjoy life fully.
05-06/01 Chapter 360: Livin' it up
The two days you spent at the beach were absolutely delightful. The weather was just right—not too hot—and, luckily, it didn’t rain while you were out enjoying the sand. You had such a great time with your cousin Rafinha. As expected, my mom mentioned how much you love playing in the sand, building sandcastles with such joy. Rafinha, on the other hand, prefers running around endlessly. He’s not too interested in buckets or beach toys—that’s more your style.
My mom said the first day was pretty chill. You were perfectly fine, which isn’t surprising since you’re so used to being with your grandparents. But nighttime was another story—you woke up twice asking for milk and even called out for me a little. Poor Grandma was exhausted the next day, but she still managed to enjoy the beach with you and Rafinha, just like she wanted.
Meanwhile, my sister is on the beach trip too, but with her friends. She’s nonstop—always out and about, taking the ferry to Ilhabela, waiting in long lines, and doing her thing. And, of course, it’s Grandma who’s left taking care of Rafinha. Honestly, I feel a bit sorry for her—she’s juggling you and Rafinha at the same time. Mom joked that her whole trip was more about babysitting than relaxing. My sister doesn’t exactly have the best sense of responsibility. She’s even admitted that from Monday to Friday, she’s a mom, but come Saturday and Sunday, it’s the grandparents’ turn. She always finds a way to enjoy her weekends, leaving her son behind. But honestly, this only works because both grandmothers allow it. If they ever put their foot down, she’d have to figure something else out—maybe even hire a babysitter. But she just refuses to give up her nights out. She’s… complicated.
Anyway, I’m not here to talk about my sister. I want to focus on how much fun you had on this trip. I missed you so much during the first two days, but it was the kind of missing I’m used to whenever you’re at your grandparents’ house. By the third day, though, it started to hit harder. Mom even told me she was considering staying a few extra days with you, but I put my foot down. I told her no—I couldn’t handle being apart from you for any longer. Besides, she said you had started to get fussy and miss me too, so I don’t think you would’ve lasted much longer either. Thankfully, Mom had to come back to sign a contract anyway, so the trip couldn’t be extended.
I know you’ve been living your best life in Caraguatatuba. At night, my parents took you to a little shop for ice cream, where you had a Cornetto for the second time. You loved it! Mom called me while you were devouring it, showing off how much you were enjoying every bite. She laughed, saying you’re just like me. Apparently, when I was a kid, Cornetto was the only ice cream I wanted. I still love it to this day, though now I enjoy other flavors too. Back then, though, my parents couldn’t afford it very often. It was a special treat because money was tight. These days, we can buy it for you whenever we want, but of course, we have to be careful about sugar and not overindulge. Balance is key, after all. But still, watching you enjoy your ice cream was like looking at a little version of me—it brought back so many memories.
While you were licking your ice cream, Grandpa asked if you wanted to go back to Mom’s house. Without hesitation, you said, “No! Grandpa and Grandma.” It was so sweet.
As for me, while you’ve been living it up at the beach, I’ve been enjoying some quiet time here. I’ve watched so many movies, slept in late without any little voice waking me up, and even wandered around the house in my underwear in this crazy heat. I’ve been baking cookies I brought from the U.S. and eating them fresh out of the oven. Honestly? That’s my version of living the good life.
07/01 Chapter 361: The days feel like years
Today, my anxiety—and your dad’s—was through the roof. Honestly, I don’t know why he was so anxious. He’s been away from you for a whole month in Barcelona and two weeks in Bolivia. This wasn’t new for him. But for me? Four days without you—technically just two days of not seeing you—felt so strange, so painful. I couldn’t wait for you to arrive so I could hug you tight and smother you with a million kisses.
Your dad and I weren’t in constant contact throughout the day, discussing what time my parents would arrive or updating each other every step of the way. But everything was on track, and today was the day you were finally coming home. Before that, though, my dad made a quick detour to Juqueí, about an hour and a half from Caraguatatuba, to visit a house we’re considering buying. They wanted to see the inside, tour the condo, and get a feel for the place. They’d set up an appointment with the realtor at 2 p.m., but when the realtor ran late, they decided to grab lunch at a restaurant with you first. And, of course, in typical grandparent fashion, when you refused to eat, they caved and gave you a Cornetto instead. Oh, grandparents—they always spoil the grandkids!
After lunch, they finally met with the realtor, and my mom was thrilled with the house and the condo. It’s so close to the beach, and the amenities are great—there’s even a pool. It brought her so much joy. Now, all we’re waiting for is the bank loan to come through, and then we can finally celebrate having a beach house—a dream come true, a place we can enjoy whenever we want. My mom was right when she said it: you were the first in the family, alongside them, to see what will hopefully be our future home. She even called me on video to show you running back and forth on the beach nearby, chasing birds across the vast, open sand.
As the hours passed, your arrival kept getting delayed. In the end, you didn’t get home until 10 p.m. But even so, your dad made sure to be there to welcome you. The joy on your face when you saw me was priceless, and the feeling was mutual. We hugged, kissed, and soaked in the reunion we’d been longing for. Afterward, the three of us went upstairs to the apartment, played with modeling clay, jumped around, and enjoyed every moment together as a family.
As much as you love being with your grandparents—and you do, just like I loved spending time at my Grandma Sônia’s house—there’s no place like the arms of your parents, especially your mom’s. I know that feeling because I felt it too.
Now, as a mom, I finally understand my parents a little better. I understand their pain when I left for San Diego and spent a year away. Missing your child is a very real, very raw emotion. Even the first time I went to Canada, just for a month, it was strange for them. They missed me deeply. In our family, we’re so close, so united, that being apart feels unnatural, painful for everyone involved. That month in Canada went by quickly, but San Diego was different. They couldn’t bear it. After three months, they booked a trip to Orlando so we could meet halfway, reunite, and ease the ache of being apart. We spent time together, went to theme parks, shopped, and enjoyed each other’s company before I returned to my life in San Diego. But leaving them again was hard—for them and for me.
Now, I understand why my dad was so insistent about me coming back and why they struggled with the idea of us moving abroad. If it’s already hard being away from your child, imagine being away from your child and your grandchild. The thought alone must be unbearable for a parent, a grandparent.
Even though we know we’re raising our children to one day spread their wings and fly, it’s still incredibly hard to watch the little soul you carried in your belly and raised with so much love live a life where you’re not a constant presence. Now, as a mother, I see it more clearly. I understand the sadness my parents feel. I see why they can’t fully support something that may be good for me but so painful for them.
Missing someone hurts on both sides. It’s strange how, even when you know your child is alive and well, life can feel incomplete without them. It’s as if the world loses its color. My heart goes out to every parent with a child living far away—whether in another city or across the world. Even if our souls stay connected, our physical selves ache for the closeness, for the hugs, for the everyday moments. The distance may be measured in miles, but the ache is immeasurable.
09/01 Chapter 362: It's out of my control
The bank loan was finally approved, thanks to Rafael—my sister’s husband. He’s been working at the bank for a few months now and became friend with the manager. He managed to get the branch manager to give my dad’s case some special attention. Every other bank my dad approached had turned him down, so he owes Rafael a lot. Now, they’re scheduling an inspection to see if the house is really worth what the owner is asking before releasing the funds. Honestly, I find that ridiculous. The owner should be able to ask for whatever price they want—it’s up to the buyer to decide if they’re willing to pay. But I think it’ll work out in the end.
Initially, the owner was asking R$2,800,000 for the house, then lowered it to R$2,500,000, and finally settled at R$2,000,000. He’s firm on that price and won’t budge. Considering it’s a near beachfront property in Juquehy, a beautiful and expensive part of São Sebastião, and has four suites, I’m sure the inspection will go smoothly.
With all these exciting changes on the horizon—the new apartment, the beach house, progress on our U.S. visa application, and even the B3 visa—I feel a mix of anticipation and hope for what’s to come in 2025. Late last night, I sent a message to your dad with an idea. I told him I’ve always believed that leaving home should be a last resort for a married couple. I suggested a middle ground: returning to our roots, almost like dating again, each of us in our own house. I thought we could use this time apart to work on ourselves and the issues we need to address. Then, when the new apartment is ready in May, we could give living together as a family another shot. Five months of space to grow and heal individually, followed by a fresh start.
I proposed this because, just last month, when we talked, he admitted he had considered something similar but never brought it up. So, I decided to take the first step. But his response was underwhelming—he said it was a complex idea he’d need to think about. That deflated me. With him, it always feels like I’m never a certainty, never the one thing he’s sure of. And honestly, it shouldn’t just be me wanting to fix things; it has to come from both of us. Feeling discouraged, I deleted the messages.
The next morning, he asked why I deleted them, saying he actually liked the idea. He suggested we talk about it in person, hinting that he was open to the possibility of reconnecting in a less drastic way than a complete separation. But I can’t help wondering—why didn’t he say that last night? Why does everything with him feel so hard to pin down? I try so hard to fix things, but sometimes it feels like I’m just hitting a wall. Still, I can’t live my life wondering “what if.” That’s not who I am. Yes, putting myself out there, trying to mend relationships, and risking rejection can feel humiliating. But I’d rather take that risk than live with regret.
If it weren’t for my persistence in my relationship with your dad, you wouldn’t be here today. Sometimes I try and fail, but other times, that persistence leads to something beautiful. It’s like that saying: “Whoever believes, achieves.” It’s not always true, but sometimes, it is.
Take my relationship with Caique, for example. It’s a long, complex story I haven’t shared yet—maybe this year, I’ll start telling it bit by bit. Before we broke up, there were plenty of signs we were heading in that direction. But there’s one moment that sticks with me. In January, before I traveled to Texas with my mom and sister, we were texting as usual, saying “I love you” and all that. Then, one Sunday afternoon, things took an unexpected turn. He invited me to lunch at his dad’s house, and everything was set for me to go. But something came up, and I couldn’t make it. He was furious—disappointed, even disillusioned. I’ve always wondered: if I had shown up that day, would things have lasted a little longer? Would it have changed anything?
I'm not naive to believe that our relationship ended just because of the one missed lunch, there were already cracks—petty fights, little irritations that had been building up over time. We’d reached that stage where everything your partner does seems to get on your nerves. Some couples make it through that phase; others don’t. For us, it was the beginning of the end. Still, I can’t help but wonder if my choices that day could have changed our trajectory.
Another moment that stayed with me was when we were planning to go to Disney for my mom’s birthday. It was supposed to be our first international trip together, and we were so excited. But Caique’s U.S. visa was denied. He didn’t earn much at the time—around R$2,000—and the embassy turned him down. We were devastated. Looking back, I wonder if that trip could have brought us closer, reignited our happiness, and strengthened our bond. But that was out of my hands, something I couldn’t control. Sometimes, you just have to accept that certain things are beyond your reach. But for the things that are within my control, I always try my best. That way, I know I’ve done everything I could.
With your dad, I’m doing the same—putting myself out there, even if rejection stings. Lately, rejection is all he seems to offer. And while I know I’m not solely to blame for the breakdown of our relationship, I want to be sure that, if we do part ways, I can say I gave it my all. Because sometimes, persistence leads to failure. But other times, it leads to something incredible.
11/01 Chapter 363: Don't leave me hanging
Let me share an example of how sometimes we try to be kind, friendly, and even think about reconnecting with old friendships, only to face rejection—not just in romantic matters, but in other parts of life too.
I had a friend in elementary school named Ana Caroline. We were in school together from fourth to sixth grade, but in the last two years of middle school, she switched schools, and by the end of that year, we gradually lost touch. However, we reconnected when I was about to change schools for high school, and she was going to the same one. She had always lived in Guarulhos and had moved to a new neighborhood, with her house literally behind our new school.
We resumed our friendship, and we became very close again. On the first day of school, I even stayed at her house over the weekend so we could go together. But, as time went on, our bond started to fade, especially as my relationship with Marcelo became more serious. Unfortunately, when you’re in a relationship, some friendships inevitably slip away. But in my case, it wasn’t intentional. I never planned to distance myself from any friends when I started dating someone. The truth was, Ana’s plans and lifestyle just became very different from mine, and naturally, we drifted apart.
I think she was hurt, feeling like I had chosen my relationship over our friendship. She had actually helped me get into that relationship, and I think she felt left behind. I also heard that she got upset when I wrote my book and made her character seem silly. The truth is, she wasn’t portrayed as foolish at all. On the contrary, I made her an important character, one without whom I wouldn’t have had my relationship. I included some humor in the book to keep things light, but at no point did I mean to offend her. I’ve always had a lot of affection for Ana. Yes, we had our little squabbles back in elementary school—just childish stuff—but as we grew older, I always felt a great deal of affection for her because she was a good friend. Maybe I wasn’t as good a friend as I should have been, but anyway…
I remember trying to reach out to her a few times, but her responses were always very brief, almost like she didn’t want to continue the conversation. Even before I got pregnant, we exchanged a few messages on Instagram, and she never responded to my last ones. Eventually, I gave up.
But then, I went back on Instagram one day and saw that Ana had posted about her baby shower. I was genuinely happy for her, thinking that of all the friends I had from back in middle school—Ana, Bárbara, Camila, Janaína, and Raquel—I was the only one who had become a mother, and we were all over 30's, which isn’t so common. So, when I saw she was about to have a baby, I felt a lot of joy for her and reached out to congratulate her. She responded, apologizing for not having replied to my last message in 2022 and explaining that she was terrible with Instagram. She asked me to add her number and reach out to her there. I was excited by her message, thinking maybe we would rekindle our friendship because I’ve always liked Ana. It’s fun to have someone to share experiences with, especially as new mothers. I value my friendships with people like Nádia, Girleide, and Camila—they are important to me, and I don’t take them for granted.
Ana had always had a good financial situation, and it’s nice to have friends who are in similar circumstances because it means you can do things together—like traveling or going to nicer restaurants. So, I was genuinely excited and contacted her on WhatsApp.
But then, three or four days passed, and she still hadn’t replied. I thought about it and decided to delete her number. I then sent a message on WhatsApp saying I hadn’t been able to reach her, but I understood that the chaos of her pregnancy must have been keeping her busy. I mentioned that I didn’t know her baby’s name or when the birth was due, but I wished her and the baby all the best. I know how meaningful it is to receive love from people you least expect it. I’ve shared in a previous chapter how, when I had my baby shower, so many clients I didn’t expect showed up and gave you incredible presents—it was so touching. So, I thought Ana might appreciate the gesture as well.
I finished typing that I would like to send her baby girl a gift and a heartfelt message, saying that even though life had distanced us, I would always keep her in my heart.
She responded apologetically, saying that since she didn’t have my number, my messages had been pushed down in her inbox. She sent about eight short messages, including the name of her baby—Ana Laura—and even a 3D ultrasound photo. She also asked how old I was. I found it a bit odd that she claimed my message got lost, especially after I had sent quite a few, but I figured maybe it was true, as I’ve had similar things happen with clients. But when I kept answering her questions and even tried to talk about motherhood—asking her how she was feeling about the upcoming birth, if she had decided on a birth plan, etc.—she stopped responding again.
She had sent me her mom’s address but didn’t send hers, and I told her I would send a gift by delivery in three days. But over those three days, she didn’t reply. It wasn’t until Saturday that I sent her a message saying the package had been picked up, and she responded with a photo and a thank you, and that was it.
The moral of the story is that she clearly didn’t want to engage in a personal conversation or build any new friendship. First, by not responding to my initial messages, then by responding but not continuing the conversation. I just didn’t understand why she had given me her number. It was 100% her initiative—not mine. She could’ve just thanked me for the gift, said she didn’t need it, and left it at that.
But what I want you to understand, my dear, is that sometimes things are beyond our control. We may miss someone, a friendship, or a relationship, but it’s not always reciprocal, and we can only go so far. We can’t keep chasing after people, lowering ourselves. True love, kindness, and friendship aren’t about that. When I talk about pursuing what you want in life, there’s a fine line between persistence and humiliation. We need to recognize that difference because it’s easy to blur the lines.
I would have loved to rebuild a friendship with Ana because I’ve always cared for her, and it’s nice to connect with other mothers and share experiences. But she clearly wasn’t interested. I can’t force that. Still, I’ll admit that the whole situation left me feeling blue. I already felt a bit foolish for reaching out to her on WhatsApp, and then when she responded and I kept the conversation going, I felt even more foolish.
I don’t regret sending the gift—it was from the heart—but I did feel silly for sending so many messages, putting so much affection into it. I could’ve shown some affection, but maybe not in such an over-the-top, sentimental way. The important thing, though, is to recognize our worth and know that we deserve to be valued in return. And when we offer kindness, we should never feel ashamed of it. The world we live in today can make it hard to show our hearts, but we need to be proud of our good intentions.
13/01 Chapter 364: It comes naturally
Today, I cried—happy tears—over something that might seem small to many but is a huge milestone for most mothers. For the first time, you sat down and used your potty.
I’ll never forget it. I was outside cleaning the porch while you played inside, completely naked, because for the past few days, I had been trying to show you that when you needed to go, you had to sit on the potty. In the meantime, there had been a few little accidents—very few, actually—but every time you peed on the floor, you would tell me about it, looking hesitant and embarrassed. And I always corrected you—not angrily, but firmly—showing you that the floor wasn’t the right place. That’s why I let you stay naked, to make it easier for you when it was time to go.
Then, today, you came to me and said, “Mommy, I peed.”
I sighed and braced myself for yet another mess to clean up. But then you pointed to the potty. And when I looked inside and saw pee in it, I let out a scream of joy. I scooped you up in my arms, hugging and kissing you, jumping around the house with tears in my eyes. And you seemed completely happy and proud smiling.
To some, this might seem like nothing. But it took me right back to the moment I saw you take your first step, when I felt this same rush of emotion. And here I am again, overwhelmed with pride at another one of your “firsts,” another big step in this journey of motherhood.
Then it hit me—your dad missed it. And even though men don’t always get as excited about these things, he’s such a present father that I knew he would’ve loved to see this moment. So I called him. Then I called your grandparents. I shared the joy with all of them.
Most kids start potty training around 3 years old, but here you are, my love, just 2 years and 3 months old, already so ahead of the curve. You’ve always been early with everything—talking, walking, potty training… And you know what the secret is? No pressure. No waiting with anxious expectations. No comparing with other moms and kids. Just letting things unfold naturally, allowing them to happen in their own time.
I never compared you to other children. I never worried about delays or milestones. I just let you be, let things happen when they were meant to. And somehow, it always happened sooner than expected.
The key is simply to walk beside your child, holding their little hand, guiding them through these tiny yet monumental steps.
15/01 Chapter 365: Heads On The cloud, Got No Weight On My Shoulder
When it comes to politics, the only politician I truly admire and trust is Nikolas Ferreira, and that’s no secret to anyone. But on January 15th, he made history.
Just the day before, he had recorded a video breaking down the entire controversy surrounding the Pix issue, explaining in detail what was happening and what the new procedure entailed. He made it very clear: Pix itself wouldn’t be taxed. What would be taxed were transactions above a certain threshold. He walked through the entire process step by step but also pointed out something important—while the government claimed Pix wouldn't be taxed "for now," the same had been said about Chinese imports, and look how that turned out. Time and time again, they’ve reassured the public that certain policies wouldn’t be implemented, only to go back on their word.
His video was simple, just 4 minutes long, yet incredibly effective. What the government didn’t anticipate was that in just 24 hours, it would surpass over 170 million views, breaking into the global rankings. As of today, as I write this, it’s even listed on Wikipedia. Of course, rankings change over time, and who knows if it will still be there when you read this, but for now, it holds the record for the second most-watched video in the world within 24 hours—only behind BTS’s "Butter" (which, to be honest, I’ve never seen).
Think about it: a young, right-wing congressman with a massive Instagram following, reaching millions, explaining a complex issue in a way that resonated with ordinary people. He never claimed Pix itself would be taxed but laid out what exactly would be, and that alone was enough to spark outrage from those who hadn't yet grasped the full picture.
And then, in just a day, his video hit over 300 million views. To put that into perspective, Brazil has about 260 million people. His video was so viral, so monumental, that it was as if every single person in the country had watched it—plus Brazilians living abroad and even foreigners. It was undeniable: Nikolas had made history. And the government? They panicked. Suddenly, there was talk of lawsuits, attempts to revoke his mandate, and all sorts of absurd accusations thrown his way.
But what truly sealed this as a historic moment wasn’t just the video’s reach—it was its impact. And guess what? The government actually backed down. They held a press conference announcing that the Pix tax proposal would be revoked. Of course, they blamed "fake news" for the backlash, claiming misinformation had damaged their image. But the truth was, they had damaged themselves. They saw the sheer scale of public outrage and realized the hit their reputation was taking.
As Nikolas himself posted on Twitter: "Victory. January 15th is now a day to remember in Brazil." It was, perhaps, the first time the people successfully pushed back against something the government tried to force down their throats. The first real win. And the only reason we can even celebrate this victory is because of the bad news that came before it. In an ideal world, this wouldn't have even been a fight in the first place.
But thanks to him, millions of Brazilians—myself included—can go to sleep tonight with a lighter heart, without that weight of uncertainty about the future. Thank you, Nikolas. If fraud or corruption doesn’t stand in the way, you will, without a doubt, be the future president of this country one day.
And PS: He has now surpassed President Lula in follower count and currently has nearly 17 million followers.
17/01 Chapter 366: Unaffected
A few days ago, while we were sitting on the floor playing with you, your dad mentioned that he wanted to talk to me later about the message I had sent him on WhatsApp. He seemed to be smiling, happy even—so I thought it was something positive. Today, when you went to sleep at your grandma’s house, we took the opportunity to meet and have that conversation. But nothing went as I expected. Nothing at all.
I think he had been going over everything in his head, analyzing, debating, maybe even considering things in a more hopeful way. But for some reason, when he arrived, the conversation took a completely different turn. I don’t know if it was something he started reflecting on that day, if the discomfort of the conversation itself made things clearer for him, or if he talked to someone who changed his perspective. But a few days ago, it felt like he wanted to discuss how we could make things work, and suddenly, we were on opposite sides, heading in a different direction.
It’s strange—no matter what I do, no matter what I say, it never seems to be enough for him. It feels like nothing truly affects him. As if the end of our relationship didn’t make him sad at all. I don’t know—maybe he just doesn’t let things get to him, or maybe nothing really does. When he left home last year, he seemed unsure, confused, maybe even sad. But today, when we talked, he was clear and firm. He doesn’t want to come back. It’s something he’s absolutely sure of. So instead of distance making us realize that being apart isn’t right, instead of making us miss each other, it’s only pulling us further apart. I don’t know how to explain it, but each day, it feels like we’re becoming more and more like strangers.
At first, I didn’t handle the rejection well. I did what I always do—I acted impulsively, blocked him, deleted him from everything. But the problem with having a child with someone is that you can’t treat it like a regular breakup. And by "regular," I mean one without kids involved. I can’t just erase him from my life the way I did with past relationships. Honestly, I don’t even know if those people are still alive, because I never had the slightest curiosity to check in on them. In my mind, looking back only brings pain, and there’s no point in watching someone else move on when your heart hasn’t. Why do that to yourself? To feel small? Left behind? Heartbroken? It never made sense to me. I never felt the urge to look back.
But when you have a child together, it’s different. Blocking and moving on isn’t an option. I need to know when he’s coming to pick you up, when I need to drop you off, whether you’ve eaten, whether something happened, and I need to be available if he needs to call me. Especially at this stage, at your age—it’s impossible to just cut him off. So the next day, I undid the block and accepted the reality: this isn’t a breakup I can handle the way I used to. No matter how much my heart aches, this escape route isn’t available to me. I have to learn to live with this.
So now, it’s time to keep moving forward—for real this time.
18/01 Chapter 367: Stepped out of the line
I’m starting to navigate the more challenging parts of motherhood. Lately, you’ve developed a habit of yelling when you don’t get your way—just like those spoiled kids in commercials, the ones we silently judge their parents for. But now, I see that sometimes, it’s not just about parenting. I set boundaries, I say "no" plenty, and I even give you a little slaps on the butt when necessary. I’m not the kind of mother says yes to everything, yet here we are. So, I realize now that it’s not always about how a child is raised—personality plays a big role too.
We’ve known for a long time that you were going to have a strong-willed personality. I don’t know if you take after your paternal grandmother, your aunt, or even your dad, but lately, it feels like things are getting out of control.
Just this week, you had a blast playing with Noah and Sofia at the playground downstairs. You ran, laughed, and played for almost two hours—you adore them. But when it was time to leave and I said, "Mel, let’s go home," my sweet little two-year-old suddenly turned into a stubborn force of nature. You scowled at me, crossed your arms, and yelled, "I’m not going!" I tried again, repeating myself several times, but you just kept shouting that you weren’t leaving. Not only in front of the other kids—who, by the way, weren’t acting like this—but also in front of their mom, Cheila. Even she noticed the sudden shift in your behavior, commenting on how, just last year, you were so sweet, obedient, and easygoing. And now? Now, we’re in a whole new phase.
It’s not just at the playground. When I try to feed you and you don’t want to eat, you scream. When it’s time for a bath, you scream. Anytime something doesn’t go your way, you react like this, and it’s driving me crazy. Even your grandparents have noticed and started stepping in to scold you.
The other night, we spent a few hours at the inflatable play area at TriMais Market. It’s the same place where, months ago, I took you and Rafinha, but for some reason, you were scared and refused to play. This time, I tried again with Noah and Sofia. At first, you were hesitant, afraid of the slide and the bounce house, but after a while, you warmed up and started having fun. But when it was time to leave? The same problem all over again.
And now that you’ve started school, it’s happening there too. The other day, you were having fun at the school’s playground when it was time to go home. In front of all the parents and staff, you screamed at me, refusing to leave. I had to pick you up and carry you out as you thrashed in my arms.
I’m realizing two things through all of this: First, your personality is going to be a challenge, and I need to find a way to handle it. Second, parents are often unfairly judged by outsiders who assume a misbehaving child is just spoiled or undisciplined. But that’s not always the case. Sometimes, it’s simply who the child is.
I’m doing my best, and we’ll see how long this phase lasts. But something keeps nagging at me—a conversation I had with a dad at your school. His daughter is just a few months older than you, and he told me that when she turned two, they started letting her watch cartoons. But after that, she became defiant, throwing tantrums—especially when they turned the TV off. Eventually, they cut screen time completely, and her behavior improved. I’ve seen some studies and videos on how screens can contribute to tantrums, and honestly, it makes sense. But I’m not mentioning this to your dad just yet, because I already know how that would go—he’d want to eliminate screen time altogether, and I’m not convinced that’s the only solution. Still, if things don’t get better, I might have to start making some changes.
Oh, and one more thing—you definitely take after me in at least one way: your hatred for clothing tags. When I was a kid, tags drove me crazy. I’d make my mom cut them all out because they irritated me so much. These days, I can tolerate some, but back then, it was unbearable. And now? You’re the same way. There were a few outfits you didn’t mind at first, but lately, the second you spot a tag, you refuse to wear it. So now, every time I buy you something new, I have to grab the scissors and cut the tags off before you’ll even consider putting it on.
19/01 Chapter 368: My generation
I've been thinking more about the connection between cartoons and tantrums, but at the same time, I can’t help but compare it to the past. Kids didn’t throw fits over TV shows back then. Take me, for example—I watched way more TV than my sister. I loved soap operas, Disney movies, and anything on screen. While other kids were running off to the beach, I’d often stay at my grandma’s house, glued to Mexican soap operas. Screens were always my thing. Ironically, I was much more obsessed with TV back then than I am now.
But here’s the point I keep coming back to: I watched a lot, and I was still a sweet, well-behaved child. Meanwhile, my sister, who barely cared about screens, was the difficult one. So, I don’t think screen time is entirely to blame. However, there is a key difference between my generation and yours.
Back then, we didn’t have an endless selection of things to watch. I remember so clearly that up until I was about 13, cartoons aired at specific times. If you wanted to watch a show, you had to tune in when it was on—there were no replays unless you recorded it on VHS or CD. Once that show ended, you either watched whatever came on next or switched the channel. And there weren’t many channels to choose from. By the time I was a preteen, options expanded with Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network, but when I was little, it was slim pickings. Tom & Jerry was always on, and I didn’t even like it that much, but it was what we had, so I watched it. I preferred Woody Woodpecker, while my sister felt the opposite, but in the end, we just watched whatever was available. There was no overwhelming sea of choices, no endless scrolling.
Now, your generation has thousands—no, millions—of options. With one tap, you can switch to something new, and that’s exactly what you do. Nothing holds your attention. You keep jumping from one cartoon to another, searching for the perfect one, but by the time you find it, you’ve already spent minutes, sometimes even longer, just scrolling. Your cousin, on the other hand, is different. He watches whatever is on without a fuss. But you? You’re picky, hard to please, and as soon as you get bored, you demand a new one. And if we put on something your cousin wants to watch? Forget it. You throw a fit, as if the world is ending.
It wasn’t like that in my time. You either watched what was on or you turned off the TV and found something else to do. And maybe that’s the real issue with your generation—too many choices. I’m starting to think that sometimes, less really is more. There’s an overload of information in our lives, and while I do believe your generation benefits from having more variety, maybe it’s gone too far. I suspect the tantrums come from this overload, from being used to having infinite options at your fingertips.
So, I’m going to work on that with you. I want you to understand that sometimes, what’s available is what you get, and if you don’t like it, you can turn it off and do something else. You need to learn that the world doesn’t always revolve around what you want, even if technology makes it feel that way. It’s not a bad thing to be introduced to something new, to sit with it, to give it a chance—who knows, you might even end up liking it.
22/01 Chapter 369: Straighten this whole thing out
Now your dad has started to question vaccines. We were always cautious about the COVID vaccine, for example, because it was released at an incredibly fast pace, without enough time to prove its long-term effectiveness. Most vaccines for other diseases take around ten years to develop, test, and roll out. That’s why we chose not to give you the COVID vaccine. We only got it ourselves because, at the time, it was a requirement for travel, and companies were firing employees who refused to take it—along with other extreme measures that forced people into compliance.
Now, scandals are emerging around this vaccine, with the biggest controversy involving Pfizer—the very one my entire family received.
But being skeptical of the COVID vaccine doesn’t mean rejecting vaccines for rubella, measles, yellow fever, polio, meningitis, tuberculosis, and so many other diseases. Yet, for some reason (AKA Instagram videos from complete strangers), your dad is going down that rabbit hole, flooding me daily with videos on the topic.
Vaccines have played a crucial role in saving millions of lives and preventing severe illnesses worldwide. They have helped eradicate fatal diseases like smallpox, which killed millions before being officially wiped out in 1980. Polio, another devastating disease, has been nearly eradicated thanks to vaccines, preventing paralysis in countless children. In other words, childhood immunization programs have drastically reduced infant mortality and hospitalizations due to preventable diseases.
People who are against vaccines are known as anti-vaxxers, and they’ve always been a small minority—despite making a lot of noise on Instagram. For years, they were the kind of group everyone mocked for being so ignorant, just like those who still believe the Earth is flat. So watching your dad start to go down this anti-vaxxer path is honestly terrifying to me.
Most anti-vaxxers oppose vaccines because they believe they cause autism in many children. It’s important to remember that autism is something you are born with—it doesn’t develop over time and has no cure. The claim that vaccines cause autism is false and has been debunked by extensive scientific research. This myth started with a fraudulent study in the 1990s that has since been retracted, and the doctor responsible lost his medical license.
Believing in anti-vaccine misinformation puts lives at risk. Diseases that were once under control, like measles and polio, have resurged in areas where vaccine skepticism is strong. Choosing not to vaccinate endangers not only the individual but also vulnerable people who can't be vaccinated due to medical reasons or newborns/babies.
I believe that in life, your rights end where they begin to affect someone else's.
A person who questions only the COVID-19 vaccine often accepts and supports traditional vaccines like those for measles, polio, and tetanus. Their doubt is usually based on concerns about the speed of development, potential side effects, or distrust in certain pharmaceutical companies or governments. In contrast, an anti-vaxxer rejects all or most vaccines, believing they are harmful, unnecessary, or part of a conspiracy.
Another important distinction is that refusing the COVID-19 vaccine does not pose the same level of danger to others as refusing vaccines for diseases like meningitis, tuberculosis, or measles. These diseases have much higher fatality rates and can spread with devastating consequences, especially in vulnerable populations.
And of course, let’s look at the statistics. Everyone I know has been vaccinated against serious diseases like polio, meningitis, hepatitis, and tuberculosis... and no one has ever had side effects or 'turned' autistic after getting their shots. In Brazil, for instance, a vaccination record is mandatory, and again, everyone I know has received these important vaccines—and I’ve met a lot of people. So statistically speaking, EVEN IF one of these vaccines had side effects, they would be extremely rare. You always have to weigh the consequences of both paths. Do I risk a possible fever or minor reaction from a vaccine, or do I risk dying from meningitis?
I once had a friend, Ana Caroline—the same one I mentioned a few chapters ago, the one who got pregnant—who lost her older brother when he was just seven years old to meningitis. These diseases used to KILL before vaccines existed.
And now, for example, Brazil is about to roll out a vaccine for bronchiolitis. Oh, if only that vaccine had been available when you were a baby… everything it could have prevented.
Now, is true that Pfizer has faced multiple lawsuits over its COVID-19 vaccine, which has contributed to growing skepticism about vaccines and the pharmaceutical industry. Many people became distrustful after reports of undisclosed side effects, rushed approval processes, and concerns about transparency in the company’s dealings with governments. This has fueled suspicions that big pharmaceutical companies are more interested in making money than in public health.
There is some truth to the idea that large pharmaceutical companies prioritize profit. These corporations operate in a multi-billion-dollar industry, and they benefit from government contracts, patents, and high-priced medications. But while profit motives are undeniable, that doesn’t mean their products are ineffective. Medicine, including vaccines, must go through rigorous testing, and their success in eradicating diseases like polio and smallpox proves their value.
So I had to straight this whole thing out with your dad and tell him that I would never stop giving you the important vaccines. I tried to explain that in Brazil, the vaccination schedule is more extensive because it’s a developing country, tropical, with more diseases. But it’s not something I’m willing to argue about, so I had to make that clear from the start.
I think it’s good for your dad to ask questions and challenge things, but constantly questioning everything is exhausting—and honestly, annoying!
The same goes for food, doesn’t it, Melanie?
25/01 Chapter 369: His Heart Has Turned Away From Them
My dad is really anxious about the bank’s inspection of the house, which needs to happen before they can release the loan money. Everything pointed to it happening this weekend, so he decided to head to Caraguá since my mom was already there. From there, they’d go to Juquehy for the inspection with the bank. They even asked if you wanted to come along, but I thought the trip would be too tiring—two and a half hours each way just to stay for a day or two. Plus, without Rafinha, I was a little worried you might get upset and not settle in. Because even though you have an unconditional love for your grandpa, I think Rafinha is still the love of your life—for now.
But today’s news is that my great-grandfather passed away, and with his death, I watched a small part of my father die too.
Now, let's talk about my paternal grandfather for a moment.
I believe my grandfather may have made mistakes by not being as present for his first family as he should have, but like I said, that had more to do with his personality than a lack of love. I know this because my father is the same way.
There are a few things you should know to better understand the context—and to understand your great-grandfather a little more. He always made sure his children had everything they needed. He always paid child support on time and even covered their college expenses. There was a time when Rodney got his driver’s license and became absolutely relentless about getting a car. He wouldn’t stop pestering his father—day in, day out, leaving notes on his door, at his office, sending messages everywhere, constantly asking for a car. And you know what? He got one—out of sheer persistence. Your great-grandfather got so tired of the nagging that he finally tossed him the keys to his own car and told him to keep it. And just like that, Rodney ended up with a perfectly good car. That’s not something every father would do, let alone give up his own car for a son he didn’t even see that often anymore. That’s why I say—it was never about a lack of love; it was just the way he was.
It’s also important for you to know that he still pays a monthly allowance of just over a thousand reais to your great-grandmother, Sonia. He doesn’t have to—his children are all over 40 now, and the divorce happened ages ago—but it was something he agreed upon with your grandpa Ronaldo. Even after all these decades apart, he keeps his word, maybe out of guilt for certain things, but still, it’s something honorable. Think about it—how many men today, after a divorce, would do the same? Hardly any.
The child who had the most contact with your great-grandfather Egydio was definitely your grandfather Ronaldo because they worked together in the legal field. While your grandpa had a law office on the upper floor of the house, Egydio worked downstairs as a vehicle registration agent, so they saw each other and interacted every day. Because of this, it’s clear that your grandfather was always the closest child to Egydio from his first family—but that was mostly due to the fact that they worked side by side. My father was there every day, naturally building that bond.
As for the grandchildren, the closest ones were definitely me and Taina. That’s because my dad always made an effort—he invited him to parties, insisted he come, and in the end, he would show up, which the other children didn’t really do. If he wasn’t invited, he simply wouldn’t go. Even with an invitation, it wasn’t always easy, because Egydio was a homebody—just like your grandpa—so getting him to leave the house was already a challenge. Without an invitation, though, it was nearly impossible.
For example, he came to my 15th birthday, gave me a beautiful piece of jewelry, and was always affectionate with me. My issue with him, though, was that, aside from not being as present as my grandfather Wilson, he became extremely religious later in life. This only happened after he started his second family. When his son from that family grew older, he married a deeply religious woman who brought him into the evangelical faith, and from there, he pulled the entire family along with him.
I have nothing against religion per se—if anything, it actually helped my great-grandfather in some ways. Thanks to his faith, he quit drinking and smoking, which had been lifelong habits, so in that sense, it was a positive change. But on the other hand, his whole family became so deeply religious that it felt like that was all they lived for. He became a pastor, his eldest daughter spent all her time dancing in church, and whenever I saw him, the conversation was always the same: religion. He’d talk about how he wanted to take me to Israel one day, about Jesus, and all of that. And I’m just not religious—at all. Quite the opposite, actually. I feel frustrated with the world, and if there is a God in this universe, I think He’s doing a terrible job when it comes to humanity. And I have no shame in saying that. No matter what explanations religions offer, to me, the world is a place filled with pain, cruelty, and darkness.
26/01 Chapter 370: There's nothing but the rain
I hadn’t planned on going to my grandfather’s wake. The last time I attended one, I had a serious encounter with cockroaches. It was broad daylight, and they were flying around in that indescribably eerie atmosphere. At one point, I heard Renata scream that one was crawling up her leg, and that was it for me—I bolted straight to the car.
The truth is, cemeteries, with bodies buried beneath the ground, are crawling with cockroaches. And for someone like me, it’s not just a normal fear—it’s a full-blown, uncontrollable phobia. I simply can’t be around them. I even told my mom on the phone yesterday that I would explain everything to my dad so he wouldn’t be upset, but the fear is so overwhelming that I might not even be able to attend my own parents' funerals one day. It’s something that consumes me—it’s stronger than me.
My dad understood and reassured me that I didn’t have to go. But when we woke up the next morning, he was already gone. He sent us a video from the wake, saying that if I wanted to come, I shouldn’t worry—it was spotless, no cockroaches in sight. He even sent photos and mentioned there was an indoor area where I could stay. A little while later, my mom forwarded me a voice message from him, asking her to try and convince my sister and me to attend, just to be there.
That’s when it hit me. My dad has always done everything for us. He never asks for anything. And now, for the first time, he was making a request. How could I say no?
Seeing the video and hearing him say the place was nothing like the last wake we attended—Matheus’s funeral—helped ease my anxiety. I decided to go. Even my cousin Giovanna texted, asking if I was going, so I forwarded my dad’s message and told her I would. She replied that she’d go too, which surprised me.
The last time we talked about my grandfather, she had said something so disturbing that my mom was horrified. She had mentioned that as soon as he passed away, she would go out and celebrate. I mean… who says something like that? Yes, my grandfather had made mistakes, but he wasn’t a terrible person who deserved that kind of cruelty.
So yeah, I was surprised that she decided to go, but I didn’t say anything.
Your dad asked me if we should take you and go all of us, but I told him no—wakes aren’t places for children. Besides, seeing her beloved grandpa in tears would have only made you cry too.
The hardest part of the wake wasn’t being there—it was getting there.
The route took me through some rough streets, and at one point, I had to pass through what was almost a favela. Not quite one, but close enough. The area was so rundown that when I was about seven minutes away, my mom called, telling me to turn back. She had just driven through the same place and was worried. But I was already so close—I told her I was going anyway.
She also spent the whole day trying to get in touch with my sister, hoping to convince her to come, but her phone was off. My dad would be really upset.
But that’s just how my sister is lately. All she cares about is partying, drinking, smoking, and living her life. Screw the family. The night before, she was out having fun, and I was sure she was still sleeping by the time my mom was calling. It’s not that she needed to rush home or anything, but she knew our grandfather had passed the night before. She must have at least suspected the wake would be the next day—why not keep her phone on? But at this point, she’s a lost cause.
When I arrived, my dad’s entire family was there—except, of course, my grandmother. No one expected her to come. But all three of my grandfather’s children were present, including Victor, Rodney’s son. Victor had only met his grandfather once when he was little, and he even joked that this would be both his first and last time seeing him. Technically, he had seen him before, but he was too young to remember.
There was also my dad’s cousin, Alex, with his wife, Meminha, and even my dad’s business partners—two lawyers he worked with—had shown up.
The atmosphere was heavy with grief. My grandfather’s family—the one he built later in life—was devastated, crying uncontrollably. I couldn’t help but feel for his other granddaughters. He had been such a present, loving grandfather to them, and losing him must have felt like what it would be for me if grandpa Wilson had passed. They were heartbroken, visibly shaken.
My dad held it together—until his half-brother, Rodrigo, began his speech. As he spoke about their father, my dad broke down, sobbing. That was when your grandma Simone and I wrapped him in a tight hug, both of us painfully aware of Tayna’s absence. She should have been there for him in that moment. It hurt to see him like that, because my dad never cries. He’s one of those people who always seems strong, unshakable. So seeing him fall apart like that? It was like a punch to the gut.
He had made a firm decision—he wouldn’t see his father in the casket. He wanted to remember him smiling, full of life, not with the still, lifeless expression of death. And I understood him completely, because I made the same choice. I didn’t want to see my grandfather that way, and I don’t think I ever will, with anyone. I want to remember people in their happiest moments, not as their last image in a coffin.
Some people tried to change his mind, telling him that his father looked peaceful, serene—even beautiful—but he wouldn’t budge. And honestly? People should respect that.
Up until that moment, no cockroaches in sight. But as soon as we stepped deeper into the area where the tombs were… that’s when my fear kicked in.
I walked in, arms crossed, clinging to my mother like she was my personal shield. And honestly? She was. My eyes scanned the ground obsessively, every step calculated, my body tense with the expectation of seeing something I feared the most. Then, suddenly—she pushed me to the side, pulling me along with her. There was one. But it was dead.
As we kept walking, my dad reassured us. He had been told that the cemetery was fumigated every week, which meant either there were no cockroaches, or the ones that did appear were already lifeless.
That calmed me a little. But I still didn’t let my guard down.
My dad went ahead to help his half-brother carry the casket, and the burial began.
He started by telling a story about his dad. He said his father had a heart of gold and that he would never forget a particular moment from his childhood. He had been out fishing with his dad, something they often did together. His father was always a calm, patient man—never the type to raise his voice or get angry with his children. But that day was different.
At some point, my dad accidentally let go of his fishing rod, and it slipped into the river. And for the first time in his life, he saw his father lose his temper. His dad loved that fishing rod, and the frustration in his voice was something my father had never seen before. Eventually, they managed to retrieve it, but my dad was still upset. He sat off to the side, sulking, feeling awful about what had happened.
That’s when his father came over, sat next to him, and gently said, "It wasn’t your fault. It was that huge fish that pulled the rod away!" Then, he showed him the fish. My dad even remembered the exact species.
Years later, as an adult working alongside his father, my dad brought up the story again. My grandfather just laughed and said, "Oh, come on! That type of fish doesn’t even live in rivers. It’s a saltwater fish."
And that’s when my dad realized the truth. His father had bought a big fish from a nearby vendor just to comfort him, to make sure he wouldn’t feel guilty over something so small.
By the time my dad finished the story, tears were streaming down his face. "I love my father so much," he choked out, breaking down completely.
At that moment, both sides of the family dissolved into tears—his new family, my aunt, even my cousin Giovanna, who was moved just by watching her grandfather cry.
And then, just as the weight of the moment settled over us all, my sister arrived. She walked straight to my dad and wrapped him in a hug.
We were so relieved to see her there.
And that’s when everything went downhill.
Since there were a lot of little flying bugs around, I was already on high alert, tense with fear. My uncle Cláudio and my uncle Alex suddenly told me to stay still—not to move. Their tone was too serious, and panic instantly set in.
Something was on my leg.
I didn’t feel anything, but their reaction sent me into full-blown terror. I started yelling, begging them to get it off me. Just as I was beginning to calm down, they started saying it again—“Don’t move, don’t move.” My heart raced, my breath hitched, and my mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios.
If it was just a little bug, why would they even mention it? Wouldn’t they just brush it off casually? For a moment, I wondered if they were hiding the truth from me—if it was really a cockroach, but they didn’t want to tell me.
That was it. I lost it.
Thankfully, my aunt Cuca grabbed my hand and said gently, “You’ve done your part. Let’s go.” She led me away, holding my hand tightly, like a lifeline. As we walked out of the gravesite, she reassured me, "Phobias need to be respected."
The moment we stepped outside, it started raining.
I didn’t mind the rain—I’ve never cared about getting wet—but the timing felt almost poetic. The sky opened up, as if it, too, was mourning. The raindrops blended with the tears of those grieving, giving the day a sense of closure, of solemnity. It was the kind of gray, somber rain that fit exactly what a funeral should feel like.
As we walked back, soaked from the downpour, my sister and Giovanna told me that a cockroach had actually crawled near my sister’s foot—very much alive—until Aunt Rosane killed it.
Thank God Aunt Cuca pulled me out when she did. Can you imagine me having a full-on meltdown at my grandfather’s funeral? I was already causing enough of a scene, with people watching me in confusion.
Afterward, we went home, and the rest of the day belonged to my father. He spent hours reminiscing about his dad, telling story after story. Every time we tried to shift the conversation, to lift his spirits, he stopped us.
"Today, I just want to talk about my father," he said. "Tomorrow, I'll move on. But today, I need to remember him."
And so, we listened.
RIP, grandpa!
27-31/01 Chapter 371: These days are gone
The month ended on a high note—you started preschool again! But this time, it was at a brand-new school, the one we visited last year that’s specially designed for little kids. You barely needed any time to adjust; by the 3rd day, you were completely settled in. Rafinha, on the other hand, took a bit longer. He cried a lot at first, but now you’re both loving every moment there.
One of the biggest surprises came when I went to pick you up. As I stood there waiting, who should I see coming down the stairs but your pediatrician Dr. Humberto—carrying his grandson! I practically shouted in disbelief. What were the chances? The very doctor who’s been taking care of you since you were born has a grandson at the same preschool! And if that weren’t wild enough, the two of you almost ended up in the same class—he’s just one year older than you. But soon, the older kids will be moving to a new campus just down the street, so I doubt we’ll be running into Dr. Humberto as often. Still, I’ve already seen him three times in the past few days. It’s been such a fun surprise. If his grandson is going there, this preschool must be truly top-notch. Now, let’s talk about your latest favorite phrase: "bunda feia" (ugly butt). Apparently, this is your go-to insult. Anytime you want to express disapproval, someone is suddenly a “bunda feia.” The other day, you called your friend Lívia that, but Rafinha? He gets special treatment—he’s “bunda linda” (beautiful butt). I have no idea where you picked this up. It sounds exactly like something your grandpa Ronaldo would come up with, but he swears he’s never said it. His theory? He only ever tells you and Rafinha BUNDA SUJA, so maybe you twisted it into something new. Or maybe you picked it up from another kid at school, and now it’s spreading—just like you’re bound to inspire other kids to start saying it at home, too.
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