The silence between them lingered for a few seconds. But this time, it wasn't the silence of distance — it was the silence of two people who don't know where to begin.
On the other end of the line, Beatriz tried to steady her breathing. Her body was still trembling, and just hearing her daughter's voice already felt like a miracle.
— How are you...? — she ventured, cautiously, as if walking on fragile ground.
Ana took a while to answer. She looked around the room, as if searching in ordinary things for a possible response. Her gaze landed on an old photograph on the shelf — she and her mother, arms wrapped around each other at the edge of the sea.
— I live one day at a time — she finally said, in a quiet voice.
Beatriz gave a sad smile. Only those who know the pain of losing someone while they're still alive can understand the weight of those words.
— I think about you every day... you know?
Ana leaned back against the couch and took a deep breath.
— And even so... you never called — she replied without anger, but with the frankness of someone who carries old scars.
Beatriz felt the blow but didn't turn away. She knew she deserved every word.
— I was scared... ashamed... — she admitted — I thought maybe... it'd be better if you forgot me.
— And you really think we forget our own mother...? — Ana countered, her voice calm, but firm.
Giovanni, still kneeling beside Beatriz, squeezed her hand a little tighter. She closed her eyes, letting a few tears escape, and whispered:
— I don't want to justify anything... I just... I just want to listen, if you'll still let me.
Ana stayed silent. Her heart was pounding.
She got up slowly, walked to the front room, and found her son standing at the window. He was quietly watching other kids play soccer outside. His eyes looked far away, and there was a subtle weight in his posture — as if he somehow already knew what it felt like to be on the outside. Ana felt a sharp pang in her chest. A mirror. An echo.
She approached, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned to her and gave a forced little smile.
— I'm okay, mom...
Ana nodded, saying nothing, and returned to the couch with the phone pressed to her ear.
And for the first time in years, she felt something that didn't come from pain — but from curiosity, from a need to understand who this woman on the other end of the line really was.
— Alright... — she said, breathing deeply — Then tell me. Tell me what you never said.
Beatriz adjusted herself on the sofa, squeezing Giovanni's hand as if he were the anchor keeping her from falling apart.
— I'll start from the beginning... — she said, her voice trembling — but, daughter... stop me whenever you need to.
And so, Beatriz's voice began to draw the past Ana had never truly heard. Simple, slow words, but filled with pain and truth.
For the first time, the silence between mother and daughter wasn't absence. It was space — for listening.
Beatriz took a deep breath before beginning. Her voice was low and hesitant.
"I don't even know if I can tell you everything right... But I'll try."
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching for courage in her memories.
"When you were born, it was like the world gained color again. I looked at you and thought, 'Now it's going to be okay.' But I was also completely broken inside... trying to be a mother, trying to be a woman, trying to... exist."
Ana listened silently, her heart pounding. The hand holding her cell phone was already beginning to sweat.
"I made a lot of mistakes, daughter. I walked away because... because I didn't know how to stay. I didn't know how to ask for help. And I felt so ashamed... I thought you would be happier without me around."
Beatriz paused. Her voice began to falter.
"But after I left... forget you? Never. I saw children on the street, heard your name, every little thing... and I remembered you." But I didn't have the courage to do anything. I just kept waiting for time to pass and trying to convince myself it was too late.
On the other end of the line, Ana closed her eyes. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I'm not saying this to make you forgive me," Beatriz continued. "I just... I just wanted you to know. That, even though we're far away, you've always been mine. And that I'm sorry. I'm sorry with everything I am."
Ana took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I waited for you. So many years. So many dates. But you never came. You never even said hello."
Beatriz bit her lip, swallowing back tears.
"I know. And there's no excuse that can fix this. I just wish... maybe... we could start somehow. Even if it's small. Even if it's slow."
On the other end of the line, Ana closed her eyes. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
Ana took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I waited for you. So many years. So many dates. But you never came. You never even said hello."
Beatriz bit her lip, swallowing back tears.
"I know. And there's no excuse that can fix that. I just wish... maybe... we could start somehow. Even if it's small. Even if it's slow."
Ana looked at her son again. He was still standing at the window, motionless, watching the movement outside. After a moment, he slowly moved away, looked away, and began to climb the stairs in silence.
"And now?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "What do you really want from me?"
Beatriz answered with simple, moving sincerity:
"Whatever you can give me. A call now and then. A photo. A piece of your life... even from afar. I don't want to invade your space, daughter. I just want to be present, alive for you, in case one day you want to let me in."
Ana squeezed her eyes shut, letting silence fill the space between them. The pain of the past was still there, but something inside her was beginning to awaken.
"Give me time," she said, her voice breaking. "I need time to process all this."
Beatriz nodded on the other end of the line, wiping her face with the sleeve of her shirt.
"You can take as long as you need, daughter. I'm here. Waiting. No rush, no pressure."
And, for the first time, that silence between them wasn't heavy—it gave her breath.
Ana took a deep breath and, in a whisper, said:
"Okay... can I call you at this same time tomorrow? Just to... keep trying."
Beatriz smiled, moved.
"I'll wait for your call, daughter. And this time, take your time."
And, for the first time, the silence between them was a pause filled with hope.
A few weeks had passed since Ana and Beatriz's first timid contact. Their calls were short, filled with pauses and silences, but also with a silent desire to get closer.
That night, Ana answered the phone while Lucas played in the corner of the living room. The conversation started off light, as always, talking about daily life, work, and their son.
But, for the first time, Beatriz decided to touch on a raw nerve Ana had always avoided.
"Ana... can I ask you something?" Beatriz asked, her voice a little hesitant.
Ana was silent for a moment, curious and apprehensive.
"Why do you always change the subject when I ask about Lucas?" Beatriz continued carefully. "I feel like there's something there you don't want to talk about yet."
Ana swallowed hard, feeling the weight of that question. The silence on the other end of the line seemed longer than ever.
Ana closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the reassurance in that simple phrase. Then her voice was low, almost a whisper.
"Mom... I want to talk about Lucas, but... when I start, I'll probably end up crying."
She paused, gathering the courage to continue.
"His situation has been difficult these past few months. It's not constant, you know? Sometimes he gets better, and we breathe a sigh of relief. But other times... it seems to get worse, and that makes me very worried."
Ana choked back tears, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I try to be strong for him, but there are times when fear takes over—of not knowing what's coming, of not being able to protect him like he deserves."
On the other end of the line, Beatriz felt her daughter's heart ache.
"I know you're doing everything you can, Ana. And that Lucas is very lucky to have you."
Ana sighed deeply, a mixture of exhaustion and hope.
"Thank you, Mom... I just wanted you to know that. That I'm not giving up on him, even when everything seems so uncertain."
"Never give up," Beatriz replied, her voice firm and tender. "I'm here for you, always."
"I know you're doing everything you can," Beatriz said, trying to convey strength.
Ana, "But, Mom... I wish you were here, facing me, so I could tell you all my current problems."
Ana sighed deeply, her voice already trembling.
Beatriz, "And where's Carlos? Why isn't he here with you?" Beatriz asked, a little excited, surprise filling her voice.
Ana was silent for a moment. The question hung heavy in the air.
"Beatriz was speechless, the shock evident in the heavy breathing on the other end of the line.
"Ana, I... I'm so sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "I didn't know... I didn't imagine it was so recent."
Ana pressed the phone to her face, trying to contain her despair.
"I don't know what to do anymore, Mom. Lucas... he's depressed. Sometimes it gets better, but other times it gets worse. Some days he doesn't eat anything, he spends the whole day like this... and I feel lost."
A deep sob escaped Ana, breaking the silence.
"I just wanted... I just wanted some peace for him, for me..." she said, her voice choked with tears.
In the silence that followed, the sound of Ana's crying was the raw expression of all the pain, fear, and anguish she had been carrying.
Ana barely managed to finish her sentence. From upstairs, she heard muffled crying—a sound that had become common in recent months, but that still tore at her heart every time.
She pressed the phone to her ear, whispering urgently:
"Mom... I have to hang up. Lucas... he's crying again."
Beatriz was silent for a second, her heart racing on the other end of the line.
"It's okay, honey... go ahead. Take care of him," she said quietly, trying to hide the growing anguish.
Ana didn't answer. She just hung up, her eyes watering and her heart breaking. She walked upstairs almost silently, carrying with her the weight of everything she still didn't know how to share—not with her mother, not with the world.
In Italy, the night was silent inside the old mansion with its thick walls and tall windows. The sound of firm footsteps echoed discreetly through the ancient wooden hallway. Beatriz rose from the sofa in the main living room—an imposing piece of furniture, decades old, that now seemed dwarfed by the restlessness she felt inside.
Without saying a word, she walked to the bedroom, pushing the door open slowly.
Giovanni was there, sitting in his favorite armchair near the unlit fireplace, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and an old book in his hands. He looked up when he saw his wife enter, but said nothing.
Beatriz didn't look at him immediately. She went straight to the closet. She opened the door calmly and began pulling out a dark leather suitcase from the back. She placed it on the bed with a certain care, as if the gesture were both a departure and a return.
Giovanni watched silently, the book still open on his lap. With each piece of clothing she folded, the air between them grew more charged with meaning.
"Are you going somewhere?" he asked finally, his voice deep but calm.
Beatriz paused for a moment, her hands resting on the already half-open suitcase. She took a deep breath before answering, still with her back to him:
"I'm going to Brazil."
Giovanni took off his glasses, slowly closing the book. He didn't seem surprised, just attentive.
"Is it because of Ana?"
She nodded, without turning her head.
"My daughter is broken inside... and alone. My grandson is suffering. And I've spent too much time waiting for the right moment. I won't wait any longer."
Giovanni stood slowly, approaching the bed. His face held the gravity of someone who understands that he can't—and shouldn't—prevent the decision of the one he loves.
"Do you want me to go with you?"
Beatriz finally looked at him, her eyes teary but steady.
"No. This... is something I need to do alone."
He stared at her for a moment longer, and then simply nodded, respecting the silence between them.
Beatriz packed her suitcase again. This time, more quickly. Her heart racing, but finally in agreement with her choice.
She would go.
Dawn was barely beginning to tinge the Tuscan sky when Beatriz closed her suitcase. The sound of the zipper was sharp, final, like a period at the end of a sentence that was too long.
Giovanni was waiting for her at the entrance to the mansion, already dressed, with the car keys in his hand. The car's engine roared softly in the morning silence, while fog crept over the stone floor of the garden.
The drive to the airport was mostly silent. Beatriz stared out the window, her eyes fixed on the landscape that had been her home for so long—but now seemed distant. In her head, images of Ana as a child, memories of what had been, and the weight of what was lost.
When they reached the boarding gate, Giovanni hugged her tightly. He didn't say "have a good trip." He didn't say "come back soon." He simply whispered in her ear:
"Take care of them. And yourself."
Beatriz nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, and walked through the boarding control with firm steps.
Comment if you like it and let me know if the writing is bad so I can improve... English is not my main language.
Tomorrow, Lucas' Introduction, Part 3 will be released, or maybe it could be released today. I had some comments from you.