Page 18 of Please, Forgive Me

“Someone has to be the voice of wisdom, since you insist on diving headfirst into chaos,” she said in her usual pragmatic tone.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I shot back sarcastically. But deep down, I knew I needed these conversations with her.

She reminded me of who I was, of what I wanted, and that there was still time to figure out my own path.

And as we kept eating, our conversation drifting between work frustrations and lighter topics, I felt a little more centered.

DIEGO BITTENCOURT

Meetings.

The highlight of my day—if I were a masochist. And honestly, sometimes I wondered if maybe I was.

I walked out of the conference room without really absorbing half of what had been said. Not that the details were irrelevant—every decision mattered to the company. But today, for the first time in a long while, I felt detached, like something was off.

And it pissed me off.

I was used to being in control. My focus was sharp, my time perfectly measured. Nothing slipped past me. But since last week, it felt like things had started to unravel. I could feel the tension building day by day, like a rope pulled too tight.

And at the center of it all was Maria Gabriela.

She’d been acting strange, and I knew something was going on. There was a hesitation in her eyes now, a tension in every exchange, something that hadn’t been there before. She’d always been steady, confident—and now it was like she was hiding something. Not that she was the type to keep things from me, but it was impossible to ignore how much she’d changed.

I headed back to my office, the weight of it pressing down on me. Maria Gabriela had always been my right hand, the one who kept me organized, on track. But something was off. And it unsettled me.

I hated uncertainty—especially when it involved someone so essential to my day-to-day.

Adjusting my tie, I mentally reviewed the rest of the day’s checklist. I knew I needed to address the tension between us, but I hadn’t decided how. A direct confrontation was rarely the best approach—not when provocation was our shared language. But ignoring it wasn’t an option either.

By the end of the day, I was just about ready to disconnect from the avalanche of thoughts when an emergency notification lit up my phone. The board was demanding a meeting in Rio de Janeiro—urgent. Couldn’t wait.

I dragged a hand through my hair, frustrated.

Another trip. Another disruption. The pace never slowed, and the expectations never let up.

I took a steadying breath and made the most obvious call of my day.

Maria Gabriela would have to come with me. As always. She was the only one who could keep up with the relentless stream of information and make fast decisions at my side. Complicated or not, that never changed. She was indispensable.

“Maria Gabriela?” I said as soon as she picked up. I could already hear the faint sigh of exhaustion on the other end.

“What now?” she asked, that familiar tone of someone who knew her night was about to get harder.

“Urgent board meeting in Rio. Tomorrow morning,” I said flatly. “I’ll need you there. Same as always.”

There was a pause, and I could picture her face—half frustration, half resignation.

“Got it,” she said finally. “I’ll handle things here and prepare what’s needed.”

“Good,” I agreed, though something in her voice made me pause. There was distance in it, like she was holding back.

And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being kept in the dark.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Another pause. I heard her hesitation, could almost feel her weighing how much to tell me.

“I’m fine, Diego. Like I said, just a little tired.” Her voice was lighter now, but there was still an undercurrent I didn’t like.