Page 113 of Please, Forgive Me

“I’m admitting a lot of things these days,” he said, and for a moment the joking tone faded into something deeper. “And that’s just one of them.”

I held his gaze, and for a few seconds, we didn’t need words.

Something had shifted between us—something beyond the fights, the teasing, even the hurt.

A new dynamic, a new beginning, was forming. And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t scare me.

“All right, poet,” I said, breaking the silence and bringing the tone back to light. “Let’s see how far this new version of you can impress me.”

“Oh, you’re going to be impressed. Count on it.”

“And what do I get if you fail?”

“If I fail…” He paused, like he was actually thinking it over. “You get the satisfaction of knowing you were right all along.”

I smiled—a real smile, without sarcasm or walls.

“And if you win?”

“If I win…” He stepped a little closer, holding my gaze. “If I win, maybe it means we both do.”

CHAPTER 45

“The wounds of the past can be healed by the present…”

DIEGO BITTENCOURT

I’m not entirely sure how I managed it, but I spent six months away from the company—trying to clear my head—and somehow, I did.

Of course, I missed the routine, the control I used to have over everything and everyone, but at the same time, I found something I never knew I needed so much: peace.

And it all started with Clara.

I remember how strange those first few days felt. Me—a man used to being in charge—now changing diapers, rocking her to sleep, trying to decode her cries.

But little by little, I adapted. Every smile she gave me seemed to break another piece of the armor I’d spent years building.

My daughter didn’t know it, but she was teaching me how to be human again.

And Arthur… he’d always been an important part of my life, but after Clara’s birth and my time away from work, I finally became the father he deserved. We played, we talked, and I saw in his eyes the joy of having his dad truly there—not just physically, but emotionally.

Therapy helped too.

At first, I hated the idea. Sitting down to talk about my problems, my failures? That didn’t sound like me—at least, not the version of Diego Bittencourt I used to be.

But over time, I realized it was exactly what I needed. The sessions helped me see things from a new perspective—to understand that I couldn’t control everything, and that it was okay to trust people again.

And then there was Maria Gabriela.

The fights, the sharp words, the constant push and pull—those things felt like they belonged to another lifetime now.When we spoke these days, there was an ease between us that had once felt impossible. There was still tension, sure, but not the bitter kind.

It was lighter now. She challenged me in new ways, and somehow, that kept me grounded—it made me want to keep becoming better.

Back at the company, everything felt different. The building, the people—even my office.

Maybe it was because I was different.

When I sat in my chair for the first time in six months, I looked around and took a deep breath. I was still the same man in some ways, but I’d changed in so many others.