“I found more things in my grandmother’s attic, Val!” Camila burst in, carrying a large dusty box. “Photos, old letters… I didn’t even know she kept this much.”
I smiled gratefully, took the box, and set it with care beside the others. Around me, the atmosphere was unity and stubborn determination. Children played quietly on the floor, blissfully unaware of the seriousness of the moment, while adults exchanged stories about the past—remembering what Tiradentes had been, and what was now threatening its future.
“This photo is from my family’s restaurant opening in 1965,” Júlia said with a melancholy smile, holding an old picture of alarge group of people standing in front of a newly built building, all of them grinning. “Fifty years of history, Val. And now…” Her voice wavered. Her eyes shone.
I touched her arm and squeezed gently.
“We’re not letting that happen,” I said firmly, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Not without fighting until the very last second.”
“That’s right,” Renata added, stepping closer. “They don’t get to bulldoze our stories like they don’t matter.”
I nodded, strengthened by my friends’ conviction. As I moved through the crowded bakery, I studied the items on the tables.
Every photo, every heirloom, every handwritten page held a different story—but they all shared the same emotion:
Pride.
And the determination to protect our town.
“Valentina, I found these old newspapers,” Seu Alberto said, one of the town’s oldest residents, his voice calm and deep. “They talk about when they tried something similar back in the eighties. We stopped it then. Maybe it’ll help you now too.”
I took the yellowed papers with gratitude, feeling the weight of history in my hands.
“Thank you, Seu Alberto. I’m sure this will be useful.”
Conversation moved fast around me—people discussing the best way to build the dossier for the media. We wanted something strong, something undeniable. Something that showed what Dreamland truly meant for our town.
In the middle of the bustle, a man in a dark suit appeared in the doorway—too formal to blend in.
Unease snapped through me immediately.
I walked to him, stepping away from the others, forcing composure.
“Can I help you?”
“Valentina Muniz?” he asked, professional and distant.
“Yes.”
“I’m a court officer,” he said briefly, extending a sealed envelope. “I’m here to serve you an official notice.”
My heart kicked hard. A knot formed in my throat as I accepted the envelope. The officer left immediately.
For a moment, I stood there staring at the paper in my hands as pressure built in my chest.
“Val? Are you okay?” Júlia asked, worry in her voice as she approached.
I blinked fast and forced a weak smile, sliding the envelope into the pocket of my apron.
“I’m fine,” I lied gently. “Don’t worry. Can we keep going?”
Júlia nodded—hesitant—and returned to the group. I inhaled and went back to the center table, continuing to organize the materials.
I had to keep everyone focused. United. Strong.
But as people talked and I helped assemble every detail of the dossier, the envelope felt like lead in my pocket.
And my mind kept circling back to Enrico.
