Finishing the last bandage, I dried my face, wiping away the tears, and opened the bathroom door. In the kitchen, my grandmother was already setting a plate of her delicious soup:
"Don't bother saying you're not hungry. You know you didn't eat properly today, and I won't let you go to bed on an empty stomach." I pulled out a chair, lacking the energy to argue, and watched as she hummed and sliced a piece of bread. It always amused me how she got lost in her tasks—no matter how bad the day, she always turned to her daily activities to avoid overthinking. There, in front of a countertop illuminated by the sky's light, her gentleness was even more delicate. The tune she hummed was always the same. When I complained about her limited repertoire, she'd laugh, but eventually, I got used to it—it had a calming effect. She placed the plate in front of me and returned to the pots to serve herself.
The smell was as enticing as always, but I wasn't truly paying attention. In fact, I forgot about the temperature of the hot soup, which soon did its job of scalding my mouth. Although disappointed that I could no longer fully taste the soup, I felt, for the first time that day, a sense of satisfaction.
"Take it slow," my grandmother said, attentive. I could only remove the spoon from my mouth slowly and offer a weak smile in response.
Trying not to burn myself again, I paid more attention to what I was doing. The room was dimly lit, like the bathroom, which gave it a charming ambiance. I never understood why we had such a large table when my grandmother wasn't particularly fond of making friends with the rest of the village. But the twelve-seat wooden table looked elegant when illuminated from end to end by the light streaming through the large glass window.
How did my grandmother manage to live here before everything happened to our family? Sometimes she showed me photos of everyone, excluding my father, of course, and the stories were isolated, never straying from the theme of the pictures.
I finished my meal and went to the sink to wash the dishes. The night was beautiful and tranquil; the house clocks marked another hour. No one was outside their homes anymore, especially after what had happened. I looked in the direction where I had seen Sabrina and Hugo. With effort, I made out their silhouettes illuminated by the auroras. They had moved away from the nearby houses, heading toward the path of the Aldeias Bridge, which connected the surrounding villages to D'haime. Part of me wanted to follow them, but I decided to put that aside for at least that night. I needed rest.
Drying my hands, I went to my room, where exhaustion claimed me, and I couldn't complain about that.
"Catarina, let's play, okay?" I was in the forest, near the river. My mother was smiling, her brown hair full like mine, framing her fair face with a few freckles. She hugged me tightly, andCatarina, let's play, okay?" I was in the forest, near the river. My mother was smiling, her brown hair full like mine, framing her fair face with a few freckles. She hugged me tightly and gave me a kiss, then pulled away with tears in her eyes, stroking my hair. I felt a tightness in my chest, not understanding.
"Run to your grandmother; she's in the forest! I'll follow you, my love. Find her and hide—I'll find both of you." She smiled, and I ran. Soon, the sunny day darkened, and the trees closed in around me. I couldn't scream; I could only run and cry without stopping.
"Grandma!" I woke up, desperate. I was in my room, but my legs hurt, and sweat dripped down my forehead. Another nightmare—my exhaustion wasn't helping me sleep properly. I got up, as usual, planning to make some tea and forget the recurring dream that I never quite understood. But my longing for my mother was real, at least in those dreams where I remembered her face.
In the hallway, I noticed my grandmother's bedroom door was open, but she wasn't there. I called for her, but apparently, she wasn't in the house. Panic surged through me, and I dashed outside, shouting her name.
"I'm here, my granddaughter," my grandmother said, standing next to Carmem, both illuminated by a small lantern in the dense darkness near the trees. "What happened? A nightmare?" I nodded, swallowing the topic that had brought me there, gasping for air as I tried to make sense of the scene before me.
"What's going on?" I asked, my confusion evident. No one answered, and the silence hung heavy. Carmem finally spoke.
"Nothing much. I was just talking to your grandmother about the past, and time got away from us. I'm heading back; I need to rest after today's watch. Goodnight." She left without looking back, and I stared at my grandmother, seeking na explanation.
"Come inside," she said, leading me back into the house. "I'll make you some tea."
"About what were you talking?" I asked, still shaken by the dream.
"By the auroras, Catarina..."
"Don't treat me like I'm crazy, Grandma! You always do this! As soon as I mention my mother or D'haime, you act as if you're doing something wrong."
"It's not good to dwell on the past, and it's even worse to mess with the future, my child. It's safer..."
"I don't have a safe option! Can't you see that!?" My hands trembled; I couldn't pinpoint where the frustration was coming from.
"Of course, you do!" she said, taking my hand. "Haven't I taken care of you until now? Trust what your grandmother tells you and stop making a fuss about it." I fell silent, allowing the tears of frustration to come. Talking wouldn't help; she wouldn't understand, and I was tired of trying to make sense of it all. In two days, I'd have another chance in D'haime—two days when I wouldn't have to think about the past. More than ever, I wished I had gone with Hugo.