It's Just the Two of Us

HER POINT OF VIEW

I could feel my face burning up. How embarrassing!

I tried to compose myself. The situation was awkward, but I had to pay for my things and leave before he thought I was doing it on purpose.

"Come on, Clarinha, let's put our things on the counter," I called, slipping past him carefully.

I placed the bread, milk, a plain package of cookies, and the candies she'd been begging for on the counter. Monsieur Pierre, the shop owner, started ringing up the items one by one. I already had the bills in my hand, counting in my head to make sure it would be enough.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him step up to pay too. He placed the expensive cheese and the bottle of wine on the counter. His total was probably double what I made in a whole day of work. The difference between our worlds was glaring right there.

We each paid for our own. He put his money away with all the calm in the world, while I tucked the change into my purse carefully, because every cent counted.

"Let's go, sweetheart." I picked Clarinha up, since it was pouring outside and the ground was slippery.

We reached the shop door. The rain was coming down hard, the wind whipping fiercely. He opened his umbrella.

"Wait," he said, positioning himself next to me. "It's raining really hard, and you're limping a little. You don't look very comfortable walking."

"We're used to it, right, sweetheart?" I said, trying to sound tough, but opening my umbrella anyway.

"Either way," he continued, extending his huge umbrella over all three of us, keeping me from getting any wetter, "it wouldn't be right of me to let you leave like this. My car is right here at the door. Let me give you a ride. It's the least I can do after everything that happened."

His cologne hit my nostrils — it was the scent of expensive perfume, wood, something masculine and really nice. I felt small standing next to him.

"Okay..." I agreed quietly, almost in a whisper. "But only because it's really pouring. Thank you so much."

We got into the car. It was the same black, shiny, luxurious car from the day of the accident. Clarinha climbed in first, totally amazed by the soft leather seat. I got in right after, straightening my wet skirt, feeling the warm air from the car caress my frozen face.

"What's the address?" he asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

I told him the street name. He typed it into the GPS and started driving with that calm confidence of someone who knows what he's doing. The silence in the car was nice, but then he broke the ice with a question that made me freeze.

"And the girl's father?" he asked casually, eyes on the road. "Or rather... your husband? Doesn't he mind you two going out in the rain like this?"

I felt my heart pound hard. I swallowed, staring at my hands.

"No... it's just the two of us," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

The car went silent for a few seconds. I didn't look at him, but I felt him slowly turn his head toward me, with an expression I couldn't read. Was it surprise? Or pity?

HIS POINT OF VIEW

The question slipped out before I even realized it. I was curious — I wanted to know if there was a man in her life. Something inside me already expected there wasn't, but hearing her confirm it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders... and at the same time, I felt such anger and sadness for her.

What a strong woman. Carrying everything alone in a foreign country, at twenty-seven, fighting every single day... I glanced at her through the rearview mirror. She was looking out the window, her face serious, as if she were shielding herself from something. She must be used to judgments, to disapproving looks.

"I see," I replied, lowering my voice a little so I wouldn't sound intrusive. "You must be a very strong woman then. That can't be easy."

She turned her face toward me, surprised that I hadn't made a face of judgment.

"No, it's not easy. But for her, it's worth it."

Driving with them in the back seat was a completely new feeling for me. The car, which had always been empty or filled with people talking business, now had sweet voices, soft laughter, and a different scent. The smell of children's shampoo, rain, something natural and alive.

The little girl, who never held back, decided to lighten the mood.

"My mommy works a lot, you know? She makes warm bread!" she said, all proud.

"Really?" I smiled at her through the rearview mirror. "That's cool. So your mommy is a kitchen artist."

"Don't exaggerate, mister... I just work at a bakery."

"Working with bread is one of the noblest things there is," I said, and I meant it. "Feeding people is giving life."

She went quiet, but I saw the corner of her mouth curve into a smile. She liked hearing that.

We arrived at the address. It was a narrow street with old buildings, full of charm, but clearly a simple neighborhood — very different from the buildings with security and doormen where I lived.

I parked the car as close to her building's entrance as possible. The rain was still coming down hard.

"We're here," I announced, turning off the engine.

"Thank you so much. You really saved us from catching a cold," she said, already reaching for the door. "If it weren't for you, we would've gotten home drenched."

"Don't mention it," I replied, turning in my seat to get a better look at her. "It was my pleasure."

She lingered there, hesitant. Clarinha's little eyes were already heavy with sleep.

"Well... thank you again. Until next time."

"I hope so," I replied firmly. "Will you tell me your names?"

She paused, looking at me.

"Beatriz Serpa. And this is Clarinha."

"My name is Leonardo Vasconcelos. It's a pleasure to meet you both. And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."

She nodded, lowered her eyes shyly, and got out of the car, running to the building entrance with the child. Before going inside, she turned one last time, gave a quick wave, and disappeared into the old building.

I sat there in the car, engine off, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. My head was spinning.

A single mom. She doesn't have anyone. It's just her and the little girl.

A strange, protective feeling began to swell in my chest. I wasn't going to let this go. I had to see her again. I had to learn more about this Portuguese woman who had gotten under my skin in such a short time.

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