Page 40 of Please, Forgive Me
I was deep into a complicated spreadsheet when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up and saw my boss standing in the doorway, that faint, knowing smile on his face—the one he wore whenever he was about to ask for something.
“Maria Gabriela,” he said calmly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “We have a business trip this weekend. There are a few things we need to wrap up before we go.”
He took a few steps closer to my desk. Even without saying it, he looked certain I would stay, as if my decision to remain for another six months was already settled in his mind. There was something about his tone—steady, measured—as if he had everything under control.
“Alright,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral while mentally noting what I’d need to finish ahead of time. “What exactly do you need me to do?”
Diego sat across from me, relaxed, as if it were just another casual conversation between us. He outlined the details—contracts we needed to review, documents to send before the trip, and a few other tasks that couldn’t wait.
His tone was light, his trademark dry humor slipping through now and then. He even joked about how chaotic things would be without me around to organize everything.
“If it weren’t for you, Gabriela, I’d be lost in this paperwork,” he said with a half-smile.
I smiled back, though part of me stayed cautious.
That confidence of his worried me. He truly believed I’d stay after the six months—that I was tied to our agreement—and it made me wonder what those months would really be like by his side.
Diego Bittencourt was a hard man to read, and a part of me knew he was counting on that closeness to convince me to stay longer.
After our talk, he left my office, and I went back to the tasks he’d assigned.
Everything seemed normal… until a sudden wave of nausea hit me. It was brief, but strong enough to make me stop typing.
I ignored it and tried to keep working, but it came back—sharper this time. My stomach turned, and before I could think, I bolted for the bathroom.
I barely made it in time before throwing up, not even understanding what was happening. Panic crept in slowly. The feeling was strange, unsettling, and my body felt weaker than usual.
I stayed there for a few minutes, breathing deeply, trying to steady myself—but my mind was already connecting dots I didn’t want to see.
Pregnancy.
The word echoed in my head no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
We had spent one night together… intense, unexpected. But I knew Diego had used protection.
There was no reason to worry. Right?
And yet, the doubt lingered. I hadn’t been with anyone else for months. Diego was the only one.
The thought of a possible pregnancy shook me, though logic told me it was unlikely. He’d taken precautions, and I had no reason to believe anything had gone wrong.
Still, the unease wouldn’t leave.
I took a deep breath.
I needed to calm down. It was probably just something I ate—or stress from the past few days showing up in a different form.
I stayed in the bathroom a little longer, washed my face, and waited for my body to settle down.
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
I kept twirling one of my pens between my fingers, watching the steady movement of the office through the glass door.
My desk was buried under papers, financial reports, unanswered emails—but my mind wasn’t there. I couldn’t focus on numbers, goals, or contracts.
My attention was somewhere else entirely.
From where I sat, I had a clear view of Maria Gabriela at her desk on the other side of the office. She was deep in some spreadsheet, eyes fixed on the screen, fingers moving fast over the keyboard.
