Page 98 of Please, Forgive Me
Maybe it was relief from finally saying everything she’d kept buried for so long. The mocking curve of her lips was as sharp as every word she threw at me.
“You think you’re so superior, so untouchable, huh? The great Diego Bittencourt.” Her voice cut through the air, every syllable laced with a rage I hadn’t anticipated. “Always in control, always calling the shots. But you know what you really are? A coward. A man who couldn’t even believe the mother of his own child.”
Those blue eyes—eyes I’d once thought were mysterious—were now blazing with an intensity that made me take an involuntary step back, even if only in my mind.
I couldn’t speak. For the first time in years, I was completely… disarmed.
She took a step closer, her soft perfume filling the air between us. But what came out of her mouth next was the opposite of delicate. It was acid. It was fire.
“You humiliated me through my entire pregnancy. You went out of your way to make my job hell.” She shook her head slowly, as if reliving every ounce of pain. “You changed my deadlines, piled on more work, made me spend sleepless nights—all while I was carrying your child. And why? Because you didn’t believe me. Because in that selfish head of yours, you’re the only one who’s ever right.”
She laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. The sound was pure bitterness.
“And the tragic part, Diego? I never needed you. Not once.” Her words fell like a storm. “You think you’re indispensable, that the world revolves around you. Let me tell you a secret… the world didn’t stop for me when you called me a liar. And it sure as hell won’t stop now that you finally figured out you’re the father.”
With every word she spoke, something inside me unraveled.
I wanted to stop her, to defend myself—to say I’d been confused, that the betrayal I’d suffered before had poisoned my trust. But I knew that any excuse would sound pathetic.
Because everything she was saying… was true. Brutally, painfully true.
Maria Gabriela took a small step back, breathing deeply as if trying to calm herself before finishing.
“I just needed to throw it in your face. To show you that even after everything you did to try and break me, I’m still standing. I’m standing here, alone, with my daughter in my arms—and the best part? I don’t need a man like you.”
I still couldn’t say a word. Her voice kept echoing in my mind.
“Maybe deep down you did all of this because you were terrified,” she said, her tone quieter now, almost reflective. “Terrified of becoming a real father, of repeating the same mistakes from your past. But that doesn’t justify what you did to me. Nothing does.”
She turned to leave but paused, glancing back over her shoulder one last time. Her expression had softened—calmer now, almost sad.
“You know, Diego, I’m not the woman you thought you could manipulate or control. And maybe one day you’ll regret it—not just for doubting me, but for losing the chance to be different… to be a better man.” She hesitated, her lips tightening. “I honestly hope you don’t make the same mistakes again. Because Clara and I? We’re better off without you.”
Then she walked toward the door, each step taking her further from everything we’d once been.
And I just stood there, frozen. For the first time, I realized that the control I’d always believed I had—over her, over everything—had slipped completely through my fingers.
And the worst part?
She was right.About everything.
CHAPTER 40
“True strength lies in getting back up, even when the world knocks you down…”
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
“So…?”
“She treated me like garbage.”
“And you want me to wipe your tears, Narcissus?” Alexandre let out a dry, mocking laugh, leaning against the kitchen wall.
“No. She’s absolutely right.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair before resting against the counter.
My mother’s kitchen always had that strange effect on me—pulling me back to childhood memories, to a time when everything was simpler. But now, simplicity felt as far away as the chance of undoing all the damage I’d done.
Alexandre raised an eyebrow, surprised.
