Chapter 8 - THE TRUTH IN THE ATTIC
Sunday arrived with a heavy, overcast sky that threatened rain over São Paulo. The mansion was quiet, save for the soft sound of classical piano music drifting from the second-floor study where Ricardo was attempting to catch up on corporate emails.
Luía was tidying up the upper hallway when she noticed the small, pull-down wooden ladder leading to the mansion’s attic. The hatch was slightly ajar, a sliver of dust-filled light spilling onto the hardwood floor.
She climbed the ladder cautiously, her head popping up into the cavernous space.
The attic was filled with wrapped boxes, old furniture covered in white sheets, and trunks labeled in neat, elegant handwriting. But sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by old photo albums, was Mariana.
The twelve-year-old was holding a framed portrait of Claris, tracing the glass surface with her thumb, silent tears streaming down her face.
Luía didn't retreat. She climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, her footsteps echoing softly on the wooden planks, and sat down quietly beside the young girl without saying a word.
Mariana didn't look up. "Are you going to tell me to go downstairs and do my chores?"
"Are your chores done?" Luía asked gently.
"Yes."
"Then you're off the clock," Luía said.
Mariana clutched the portrait tighter against her chest, her voice breaking. "She promised she wouldn't leave us. Right before she went into the hospital for the last time, she looked at me and said, 'Mariana, take care of your sisters.' I tried. I tried so hard, Luía. But every day it gets heavier, and dad just hides behind his computer because he misses her too much to look at us."
Luía reached out, placing her hand over Mariana’s tight, white-knuckled grip on the frame.
"Your mom didn't give you that job because she wanted you to carry the whole world on your shoulders, Mariana," Luía said, her voice rich with deep, undeniable empathy. "She gave it to you because she knew you had her strength. But strength doesn't mean never crying. It means knowing when it's safe to put the weight down."
Mariana finally turned her head, looking at Luía with all the desperate, raw vulnerability of a child who had grown up too fast. "Do you think she's watching us?"
May you like
"I think," Luía smiled softly, wiping a stray tear from the girl's cheek, "she's probably watching from wherever she is, wondering how on earth a twenty-five-year-old cleaning lady from Capão Redondo managed to outsmart her six stubborn daughters."
A watery, genuine laugh escaped Mariana’s lips—the first real laugh Luía had heard from the eldest sister all week. Mariana leaned her head against Luía’s shoulder, letting out a long, shuddering sigh as the heavy burden she had carried for over a year finally began to lighten.
