Page 129 of Please, Forgive Me
And as terrifying as that realization was, it also made me feel whole. I realized that with every passing day, with every shared moment, I was falling not just for Diego—but for the version of him who was trying so hard for us, for our daughter, for the story we were still writing together.
As the plane began its descent into Porto Seguro, a thought settled in my mind. Maybe this was the beginning of something I’d always dreamed of but never truly believed possible.
And as I held Clara’s hand and glanced at Arthur sleeping beside me—Diego watching us with a tenderness that melted every last piece of my fear—I realized that sometimes life surprises you in the most unexpected ways.
We landed with this quiet certainty that the future could finally be everything I’d ever wanted.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it. I let myself dream of being truly, completely happy.
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
I used to think power, money, and influence were all I needed to be successful—and, by extension, happy.
For years, I believed those were the pillars of my life. But now, walking along the sand in Porto Seguro with the sound of Arthur and Clara’s laughter behind me and Maria Gabriela at my side, I realized how empty all of it would be without them.
Sometimes life hands you a second chance, and now, more than ever, I felt like I was living mine.
I watched Clara trying to run across the beach, her tiny steps leaving fleeting prints in the sand as Arthur chased after her, laughing. The wind tugged at their hair, and the sound of the waves played like a soft soundtrack to this moment of pure joy.
I remembered who I used to be:
A man obsessed with winning, hiding behind a cold façade so no one could reach him. A powerful CEO incapable of showing vulnerability. That version of Diego—the one who only valued success and control—felt far away now.
Porto Seguro, with its endless sky and calming air, was the perfect backdrop to reflect on that change.
“What’s on your mind?” Maria Gabriela’s voice broke through my thoughts.
She was beside me, watching the kids with that gentle smile that always managed to disarm me.
It had taken me a long time to understand that real strength wasn’t about never showing weakness, but about embracing the changes life throws at you.
“Everything,” I said, keeping my eyes on our children. “How I used to think the world revolved around things that now feel so meaningless. And how you changed all of that.”
Maria Gabriela turned toward me, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Like me, she wasn’t used to hearing me talk about feelings. But if the past few months had taught me anything, it was that I couldn’t keep acting like before—not with her.
“Who would’ve thought?” she teased, her tone light but edged with that familiar hint of provocation that always unraveled me. “The mighty Diego Bittencourt, rethinking his priorities.”
“Not me,” I admitted with a quiet laugh. “But here I am, trying to figure out who I really am. And liking it.”
Her smile widened, and for a moment, I felt the old spark between us—the playful banter, the subtle glances—but now with something deeper woven through it, something built on years of history and change.
“I’m happy for you, Diego,” she said after a beat of silence. “For us, actually,” she added, looking at Clara and Arthur, now crouched down building a sandcastle. “Seeing you become more open, more… human.”
Her words, simple as they were, carried enormous weight. Because I knew she was still protecting herself, still cautious.
And I couldn’t blame her. Our past wasn’t simple. But what we were building now was on a much stronger foundation.
“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” I asked, watching the kids play together.
“They are,” she replied with a maternal smile before adding, “And I see so much of you in them.”
Those words—so ordinary for any parent—felt brand new to me. In the past, seeing myself in someone else was about legacy and influence. Now, it meant something entirely different.
It was about watching life bloom in a way no amount of power or money could ever give me.
We started walking again, our steps in sync as if the moment could last forever. The warmth of the sun and the ocean breeze wrapped around us, and I felt like I was finally starting to understand what truly mattered.
Not the company, not the success, not the professional victories. It was about being present for the little things: the laughter, the unhurried conversations, the touch of a familiar hand.
