I went to the kitchen determined to make something for him to eat.
I opened the cabinets first… two packs of instant noodles and old bread, hard around the edges. I opened the fridge… water, beer, margarine, milk… I closed the door harder than necessary.
— This can't be real — I muttered to myself. — How does he even eat like this?
I took the bread anyway. Spread a little margarine, sprinkled some forgotten seasoning from a crumpled packet in the drawer, and put it in the oven for a few minutes. While it toasted, I made strong coffee, the way he liked it.
When I took the bread out, it didn't look so old anymore. The golden top fooled you well enough. I put everything on an improvised tray and carried it to him.
— Eat — I said, sliding it closer.
Vicente glanced at the bread, then at me.
— After I finish eating, I'll take you back to your father's place — he said. — You can have a proper coffee there.
I let out a sigh, already annoyed.
— I'm not letting you make any effort today. I'm going out to buy food.
— Melissa…
— Don't even start — I cut him off. — I'll be back quickly.
I left before he had time to argue.
When I reached the workshop area, the two guys working on my father's car — which had clearly been badly hit — looked up at the same time. One nudged the other, laughing quietly.
— When you told me not to worry about Vicente — he said, laughing — I thought you meant he was tough… turns out it's because he's got someone taking care of him now.
They laughed.
I ignored the comment and went straight to the point.
— I'm heading out for a bit — I said. — Can you keep an eye on him for me?
One of them nodded immediately. The other smiled to the side.
— Relax. It's not just anything that takes Vicente down. Worse stuff has happened before… and he stayed standing.
He said it like a joke… like it was normal.
I nodded without smiling and left.
As I walked, the phrase kept echoing in my head. Worse stuff has happened before. The old marks on his chest, on his shoulders. Scars that didn't match a quiet life. The completely crushed car in the workshop.
I tried to push the thought away. I would understand all of that later.
Right now, I just needed Vicente back on his feet.
The small market was only a few blocks from the workshop.
It was cramped, the kind that looked like it had existed for decades without ever changing. I grabbed what could stretch the most: potatoes, eggs, rice, apples — his favorites — and a piece of meat. By the time I finished, I had enough bags to feel the weight in my arms.
The way back felt longer.
When I reached the workshop, tired, adjusting the bags on my arm, I heard a voice behind me.
— Vicente's not going to like seeing you carrying all that.
It was one of the guys from before. The same one who'd made the comments.
Before I could reply, he had already taken the bags from my hands.
— Let me carry these for you.
He walked ahead as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
I followed, unsure whether to thank him or complain. Before we entered the narrow hallway leading to the back house, I stopped for a second.
— Thank you — I said. — I'm Melissa.
He turned his head slightly while walking, half-smiling.
— I know who you are.
That caught me off guard.
— I'm Val — he added, as if that was all that mattered.
I nodded, storing the name, and we continued down the hallway.
When we reached the back house, Vicente was still sitting on the couch, watching TV as if it demanded all the attention he had.
Val went in first, set the bags on the table, and went straight to him.
— What's up, Brow — he greeted. — Still in one piece?
Vicente replied with a short nod.
— Good — Val continued. — We're already working on your car. By the way, I saw Lobão's… it's going to cost a fortune to fix that mess.
Vicente subtly raised his hand, making a quick gesture in my direction.
Val noticed immediately.
— Anyway — he corrected himself, changing his tone — I'm glad to see you're okay. But I've got to get back out front.
He turned to me, already walking away.
— Good luck — he said, with a half-smile.
I nodded, still putting the groceries away, and he left down the hallway.
I kept organizing everything: rice in the cabinet, potatoes in an improvised basket, apples set aside. I was focused on that when I felt his gaze on me.
Vicente had gotten up from the couch and was coming over slowly. He leaned against the kitchen wall and stayed there, watching in silence.
Knowing he was there, looking at me, started to make me restless.
— Are you going to just stand there? — I asked, without turning right away.
— You don't need to do all this — he said. — I'm fine. I've always handled things on my own.
The words came out automatically, like a reflex.
And without thinking, I replied:
— You're not alone anymore.
As soon as I heard myself say it, heat rushed to my face. I stopped what I was doing and turned slowly.
Vicente was staring at me.
His eyes fixed on my face, too attentive. As if that sentence had hit him harder than it should have.
After that, I didn't know what to do with my hands.
I turned back to the sink and kept putting things away, overly focused on small tasks… folding bags, lining up apples, anything to avoid facing the silence that had settled in.
That's when I felt his hands on my shoulders.
Firm… warm.
Vicente slowly turned me until I was facing him.
A brief, involuntary shiver ran through me. He was very close now, his face level with mine, his gaze locked on my eyes as if trying to figure something out.
My hands were trembling. I didn't say anything… I didn't know what to say.
— We're not kids anymore — he said quietly.
I swallowed hard.
— What do you think will happen if your mother finds out you came into my house in the middle of the night… slept next to me… put me in the shower?
Each word carried concern.
— I just took care of you — I replied quickly, my chest tightening.
He watched me for a few seconds.
Then I continued, my voice steadier than I expected it to be:
— Like you said yourself, I'm an adult now. And responsible for my choices.
I took a deep breath.
— My mother spent years deciding for me. She forced distance, separated me from my father… from you. But that's over. She can't do that anymore.
His fingers tightened slightly on my shoulders.
— I just don't want you getting into trouble because of me — he said at last.
Nothing else was said, but what hung between us weighed more than any words could.