Three years ago...
Elizabeth
It was Friday.
And before this day came, Sebastian hadn't called.
No texts. No messages. Not even a single word.
And Sharon, my other boss, was still out of the country—she wouldn't be back until sometime next week.
Two days ago, I had sent Sebastian a short text:
"
I'll be traveling to my hometown for a weekend festival."
I expected him to respond. He didn't.
In fact, the message showed read—but nothing followed.
Classic Sebastian.
A man of pride. Silent caliber.
I told myself to respect his space if that was what he wanted.
After all, he was still my employer.
And boundaries mattered—especially ones I couldn't afford to cross.
Natasha and Bianca, my two emotional but sweet best friends, couldn't stop crying when they came to drop me off at the airport. They acted like I was leaving for good, as if this trip was a final farewell.
I get it. They love hard.
But I'd only be gone for two days—Saturday was the festival, and I planned to return by Sunday night.
It wasn't goodbye. Just a brief breath of home.
Touching down in Rio de Janeiro, my hometown, felt like stepping into a vivid memory.
The air, the colors, the rhythm of the streets—it all came alive again.
It was as if I'd been away for years.
I missed this. My people.
My family. My pride.
The moment I stepped into the family mansion, my mother came running, arms wide, face lit with joy.
"Oh, my darling baby!" she cried, pulling me into a warm embrace. "How I've missed you, querida."
From behind her, a booming voice rang out:
"A princesa de um castelo de barro está de volta!"
("The princess of a clay castle is back!")
—my uncle Fernando, grinning from ear to ear.
He's my grandfather's cousin, and anytime we gather as a family, we revert to our mother tongue—Portuguese, the heartbeat of Brazil.
Within seconds, the house erupted.
My cousin brothers—all twelve of them—ran toward me with wild grins, arms outstretched.
Ten cousin sisters squealed, hugging me tightly.
Grandparents, aunts, uncles—everyone joined in.
It felt like being wrapped in a living quilt of joy.
So much love. So much noise. So much home.
If heaven had a doorway, this would be it.
I was drowning in hugs and kisses. My cheeks felt numb from all the affection.
Even little Débora—my eight-year-old cousin—was gently fingering the bracelet on my wrist. The one Sebastian gave me days ago.
Yes, I'd finally decided to wear it.
It wasn't stolen, after all.
And it didn't mean anything... did it?
"Também sinto sua falta, todos."
("I missed you all, too.")
I said, returning each hug, kissing the cheeks of my smiling grandparents.
Then I paused.
Someone was missing.
My father.
Where was he?
I wanted to ask, but Mom was too swept up in the excitement to notice.
"Nossa, olhe para você! Cresceu tanto em poucos meses!"
("Wow, look at you! All grown up in just a few months!")
"Seu cabelo! Está mais comprido!"
("Your hair! It's gotten longer!")
"Esses sapatos são novos?"
("Are those shoes new?")
"Essa pulseira parece feita de ouro puro! Posso usar num encontro?"
("That bracelet looks like real silver! Can I borrow it for a date?")
I laughed as they surrounded me like I was some royal relic. Or a returning celebrity.
But the laughter stilled when a deep voice cut through the room:
"Você veio só com presentes? E o namorado?"
("You came with just bags and gifts? What about a boyfriend?")
Dad. Rodrigues Thomas Barros.
"Rodrigues, essa é a primeira nota de boas-vindas que você tem para nossa filha?"
("Rodrigues, is that really your first welcome for our daughter?")
Mom scolded him gently.
I smiled sheepishly. "Olá, papai."
("Hello, Daddy.")
Too nervous to hug him.
If there's one person I feared—and respected—most in this world, it was my father.
There was just something about him. An aura. Unshakable.
"Além disso, Elizabeth tem apenas 23 anos. Deixa ela viver a vida."
("Besides, Elizabeth is just 23. Let her enjoy life.")
Uncle Fernando chimed in with a wink.
I mouthed a grateful "Obrigado" to him.
He was the only one who could neutralize Dad. Being older, even Dad knew not to cross him.
Suddenly, Grandma Abigail clinked her cutlery, calling for attention.
"Atenção, todos! Elizabeth deve estar faminta depois do vôo. Vamos para a sala de jantar!"
("Attention, everyone! Elizabeth must be starving after that flight. Let's head to the dining room!")
Everyone laughed, even me.
With my arm looped around Mom's shoulder, we all walked—no, marched—toward the extra-large dining hall, filled with food, memories, and the warmth of something no mansion in the world could replicate.
Home.