VALENTINA MUNIZ
When I looked around the bakery—now closed to the public—my chest tightened.
Every chair was taken. Local residents. Shop owners. People who had built their lives on this street, in this town, with hands that knew work and hearts that knew history. Their faces were set with worry and expectation, like they’d come here for answers.
And for some reason I still didn’t fully understand… they were all looking at me.
I was the one they expected to lead them now.
How had that happened?
I drew in a slow breath, anchoring myself in their quiet trust, and stepped forward, forcing myself to look far more confident than I actually felt.
“First, I want to thank all of you for coming tonight,” I began, my voice carrying through the warm space of my bakery. “I know you’re worried—and you have every reason to be. This resort project threatens more than our businesses. It threatens our history, our culture, and the way we live.”
A murmur of agreement spread through the room. People nodded. Someone muttered, “Exactly.” Renata lifted her hand discreetly, and the room settled as attention shifted.
“Valentina,” she said, cautious but direct, “do you really think we can fight a company that powerful? They have resources, lawyers, political connections. What do we have?”
I exhaled slowly. I understood the fear. Renata wasn’t the only one carrying it. This was a massive battle and we all knew it.
“We have something stronger than they think,” I said firmly, meeting her gaze head-on. “We have each other. They can have money and lawyers, but we have what they’ll never be able to buy—real community. Real belonging. We aren’t fighting just for ourselves. We’re fighting for our children and the generations that come after us. That’s what will give us strength.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Júlia watching me from near the counter. Pride. Approval. Encouragement. She gave a small nod, like she was silently saying,Keep going.
“But how do we do that in practice?” Camila asked, worry threading her voice. “The petition didn’t work. The mayor’s office already seems to be on their side. What else can we do?”
I nodded. The doubt was fair—and I needed to give them something solid to hold onto.
“We go back to the city council,” I said. “We demand a public hearing. We take our stories straight to the council members. They need to understand that this town isn’t for sale.” I paused, letting the words land. “And we organize a peaceful protest. We show them—publicly—that Tiradentes is united and willing to fight to the end.”
A brief silence followed as they processed it.
My heart sped up, nervous about what would come next—
And then, one by one, heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened. People spoke up.
“You’re right, Valentina,” an older man said—owner of a traditional inn near the park. “If we do nothing, no one will do it for us. I’m with you.”
“Us too,” a couple added, who ran a small artisan shop on the same street as my bakery.
A wave of gratitude and responsibility surged through me so powerfully it almost made my throat tighten.
“Good,” I said, steadier now. “Tomorrow I’ll contact city hall and request the hearing. And we need to start preparing for the protest immediately. Together, we can face anything.”
The meeting wrapped up not long after, the room buzzing with determined conversation. As people filed out, several stopped to thank me—quietly, personally—telling me I’d given them something important tonight.
Hope.
When the bakery finally emptied, Júlia approached, a faint smile on her lips.
“I knew you could do it,” she said. “They trust you, Valentina.”
I let out a breath and ran a nervous hand through my hair.
“I hope I can live up to it. I don’t know if I’m ready to lead something this big.”
She set a hand on my shoulder and held my gaze with sincerity.
