Page 90 of Please, Forgive Me
My eyes filled with tears, exhaustion crashing over me, but then I heard the clear, piercing cry of a newborn.
“It’s a girl!” the nurse exclaimed joyfully, bringing the tiny bundle closer to me.
My heart raced, and in that moment everything seemed to stop. The world around me faded as I looked at my daughter’s face. She was here, in my arms—so small, so perfect. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but this time they were pure happiness.
All the pain, all the anxiety, all the fear—gone. All that was left was her. My daughter.
Carolina was sobbing beside me, clearly overwhelmed.
“Gabi, she’s beautiful!” she said, her voice breaking as tears spilled freely down her face. “I told you you could do it.”
I smiled at her, still unable to believe this was real.
“Yes… we did it,” I murmured, my voice hoarse from exhaustion.
My eyes went back to my daughter, now calm, her tiny eyes half-open, as if she too was trying to adjust to the world.
“What’s her name?” the nurse asked gently as she tucked the blanket around the baby’s delicate body.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the emotions wash over me.
I’d thought about this for so long, but now, holding her in my arms, the name fit naturally.
“Clara…” I whispered, smiling down at her. “Her name is Clara.”
Carolina smiled through her tears, and the nurse nodded warmly.
“Clara. A beautiful name for a strong little girl.”
The doctor and staff moved around us, checking everything, making sure Clara and I were okay. Fatigue was beginning to pull at me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her, not even for a second.
“She’s perfect, Gabi…” Carolina said softly, stroking my hair. “And she’s lucky to have you as her mom.”
Her words hit me hard.
For months, I’d carried the fear of not being enough, of not being ready to raise a child alone. But in that moment, as I looked at Clara, I knew I’d do anything for her. I’d fight with everything I had to give her everything she needed.
The love I felt for her was overwhelming. And even though I didn’t know what the future held, I was sure of one thing: I’d never be alone again.
Clara would be my light. My purpose.
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
I paced back and forth across my office, growing more impatient with every step. The ticking of my watch sounded louder than usual, like time itself was dragging just to torture me.
Night had settled over Florianópolis, the city lights flickering outside my window, but all I could think about was her.
Even after months without a word between us, even after she’d left the company, something inside me still refused to let go.
The truth was—I never really had.
Quietly, from a distance, I’d found ways to keep track of her. I followed appointments, small details of her life that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow did.
It was irrational. I knew that.
But I cared. I needed to know she was okay, even if I’d never have the courage to admit it out loud.
I sank into my chair, rubbing my temples with both hands. My phone sat silent on the desk. No notifications, no messages. Every passing second felt like another blow to my already fraying patience.
