Page 14 of Please, Forgive Me

I was in the living room of my mansion, watching Arthur play in the yard with Theo, while my mother, Celina, sat beside me on the couch.

She was sixty-five, retired for some time now, but still carried herself with elegance. Her gray hair was always perfectly styled, and her green eyes, filled with wisdom, reflected that rare mix of gentleness and strength. She’d always been that way—a quiet fortress, the foundation of everything.

“My grandson looks more and more like you, son,” she said with a soft smile, watching Arthur run across the grass.

“I just hope he inherited more than my looks, Mom,” I answered lightly, joking on the surface, though we both knew there was truth buried in the words.

Arthur was a miniature version of me, physically. But I hoped he’d grow into qualities I had neglected in myself over the years.

She laughed under her breath, and I could feel her gaze settle on me, assessing me the way she always did. My mother had a way of seeing past the facade that so few could pierce.

“He has your spirit, Diego. Strong, determined… but also sensitive,” she said. And I knew she was right, as always.

“How’s Dad?” I asked, shifting the subject. It was never easy to talk about him without feeling that heaviness in my chest.

“He’s doing as well as he can,” she explained, her voice soft but tinged with a quiet sorrow. “He had a few better days this week. But… you know how it is.”

And I did.

Since my father, Amaro, had suffered a stroke, he hadn’t been the same. His mind was still sharp, but his body no longer obeyed him. It was like he was trapped inside a silent prison, unable to move or communicate the way he once had.

Sometimes it was unbearable to look at him—this man who’d once been so powerful, now so vulnerable.

“I’ll visit him soon,” I said, trying to sound casual. But my mother knew that was a promise I made more often than I kept.

“He’ll like that.” She nodded, her smile tinged with sadness.

Her words hit harder than I cared to admit.

The truth was, it had become painful to face my father like that. The man who had inspired me to become who I was, who helped shape the empire Alexandre and I had built.

Amacel.

The name itself a fusion of theirs—Amaro and Celina. They were the foundation of our story, the strength behind everything we had created.

I knew I should visit him more often. But something in me always resisted. Maybe it was the fear of confronting what the future might hold for me too.

Work was always the easier distraction. Easier to drown myself in meetings, decisions, numbers. But in moments like this, reality crept in, and there was no escaping it.

“I’ll do it. I promise, Mom,” I said more firmly this time. And I knew I meant it. Because no matter how hard it was, he was still my father—and time… time was merciless.

My mother had always been wise enough to give me space, even when she knew exactly what I was avoiding.

While Arthur and Theo laughed and chased each other through the garden, I felt the weight pressing down on my shoulders. Not just the weight of business, but of family. And in that moment, I realized I had to find balance. Not just for myself, but for them.

And that started with something as simple as visiting my father.

“Enjoy these moments, Diego,” my mother said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Life moves too fast, and sometimes we only see what matters when it’s already too late.”

I looked at her, into those wise eyes, and knew she was right.

“I’m trying, Mom,” I said with a faint smile. “I really am trying.”

“Having fun, son?”

“Yes, Daddy!” Arthur shouted, eyes sparkling as he and Theo darted around me.

The two of them were completely lost in their superhero world, as if nothing outside of it existed. I crouched down to their height, pretending to be one of the “villains” they had to defeat. I couldn’t stop smiling at the way Theo threw himself into the game with the same intensity as Arthur. Watching my son and my nephew like that—carefree, happy—brought me a peace I rarely felt.