And he was willing to do anything to prove it.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to feel real hope, surrendering quietly to the deep happiness of that perfect moment.
SIXTY-ONE
ENRICO FERRARA
The silence around the table that night was almost tangible. The soft candlelight clashed with the heavy atmosphere that had settled the moment we sat down.
I could feel Jorge Muniz’s hard gaze on me, even as he pretended to pay attention to Clara’s cheerful commentary about the outing they’d taken earlier that day.
Martina, on the other hand, carefully avoided my eyes, smiling only when Valentina spoke directly to her. My wife felt the tension too and tried—without much success—to fill the uncomfortable gaps in the conversation.
The gentle aroma of the dinner, carefully prepared by the house staff, lingered in the air, but it barely masked the obvious discomfort.
It was the first time I was truly sharing a table with Jorge and Martina since Valentina’s birthday. They’d arrived the day before, just in time for the surprise party, but the presence of so many people and all the excitement had prevented any deeper conversation.
And since early that morning, Valentina, Clara, and her parents had gone out to walk around the city, leaving me alone with an anxiety that now weighed on my shoulders like lead.
“Uncle Enrico, why didn’t you come walk around with us today?” Clara asked innocently, spearing a small piece of potato with her fork and unexpectedly breaking the silence.
I felt every pair of eyes at the table turn toward me—especially Martina’s sharp, assessing stare. I took a deep breath and offered Clara a calm smile.
“Because I had to take care of a few important things, sweetheart. But tomorrow I promise I’ll go out with you. Deal?”
Clara smiled, satisfied, nodding quickly, completely unaware of the cutting look Martina shot my way.
“Mom said the park was really pretty today, Uncle Enrico!”
“I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart,” I replied, smiling gently at my daughter.
“The weather really was great,” Valentina added quickly, throwing me an encouraging look. “I think spring came early this year.”
“Maybe,” Jorge replied, his rough tone carrying an obvious double meaning as his eyes lingered on me a second too long. “But I wouldn’t bet on it just yet.”
“Well, I prefer to believe it did,” I answered calmly, keeping my voice light despite the discomfort. “Sometimes we need a little faith in good things, don’t we?”
The heavy silence that followed was broken by the discreet sounds of the staff serving dinner. Martina cleared her throat lightly before addressing her daughter.
“You really outdid yourselves yesterday, dear. Your party was beautiful. And Clara looked very happy.”
“It was perfect, Grandma! I helped Uncle Enrico set everything up!” Clara said proudly.
This time, Jorge couldn’t hide the displeasure on his face, though he remained silent. The message was clear, even unspoken: he disapproved of my presence in their lives.
“And you did an amazing job, Clara,” Valentina said, casting me another quick look, trying to steady me.
Jorge shifted in his chair again, clearing his throat before speaking in a cautious, deliberately sharp tone.
“We just hope everything stays… perfect.” His eyes locked onto mine as he emphasized each word. “After all, perfection can be hard to maintain—especially when it’s built so quickly.”
Valentina stiffened beside me, and I could feel her discomfort radiating outward. Martina tried to intervene gently.
“Jorge, maybe now isn’t the right time for this kind of conversation.”
“Oh, it’s exactly the right time, Martina. We’re all here together, after all, like one big happy family, aren’t we?” he shot back, bitter irony thick in his voice as he stared at me.
I took a deep breath, keeping my expression neutral despite the growing tension.
