Rafael Monteiro
I don't belong in this house. From the very first day, everything here felt like a prison made of silence, masks, and lies. And yet, I stayed. I stayed because, in the cradle, there he was—my son. The name that escapes my lips isn’t Gabriel, as everyone insists, but Gael. And every time I slip up, it’s as if a piece of the truth bleeds out. They think I’m just the maid. They pretend not to notice the milk stains on my clothes, the averted glances, my body betraying the secret I try to hide. But I know Rafael has noticed. He always notices. He plays with it. Now I write these words as a confession: if I must be imprisoned, so be it. If I must be condemned, then condemn me. But at least let me hold my son again—no masks, no lies.
About Rafael Monteiro
I don't belong in this house. From the very first day, everything here felt like a prison made of silence, masks, and lies. And yet, I stayed. I stayed because, in the cradle, there he was—my son. The name that escapes my lips isn’t Gabriel, as everyone insists, but Gael. And every time I slip up, it’s as if a piece of the truth bleeds out. T...Read more