The last few hours have been tense and stressful, like the ones before an emergency meeting. I always hated the conventions where my presence was mandatory. For five uninterrupted hours (which felt more like five years in my mind), I had to become the magnate CEO, brilliant and glamorous, that everyone wanted to see. I smiled for the cameras and other businessmen, drank imported beverages, and nibbled on some delicacies. Then I talked avidly about business and did everything I could to not seem mortally bored.

I’m not a hypocrite. I’ll never say that having a lot of money wasn’t an absurd comfort and that being an heir was luck, not success. I could have been born, for example, as someone poor and without access to education. Then I’d look at these billionaires and spit on them, especially if I could see them at these meetings where the greatest entertainment was taking advantage of the minimal profit they made each year in their respective fields.

Sumptuous mansions with servants and maids were never my thing. My parents' house was like that, with mute and well-dressed employees who spoke softly to the bosses and served them quickly and delicately, almost never looking straight ahead or up, but down. Chauffeur, nanny, chef, gardener; all of this I abhorred. I truly believed that an adult man or woman should be responsible for the cleaning and maintenance of their home. And it was difficult to clean a place with fifteen rooms alone. So, I chose to buy two houses, one in the city and one in the countryside of RJ; both cleaned and tidied once a week by employees, where I only stayed in specific cases. However, opting for more simplicity, I rented an apartment. Donovan decided to follow the idea.

As soon as I finished eating, I started organizing the apartment better. Keys and locks that could trap her in some room were properly discarded. I got rid of possible sharp objects, like kitchen knives, which now stayed in a specific drawer with a small lock (this was the only one that would remain). Once I had given a general cleaning to the guest room, living room, area, and kitchen, I went to the bathroom.

In the rush to leave, I had forgotten to empty the bathtub. Seeing all that blood-stained water made me feel terribly uneasy, but I took a deep breath and started the work of cleaning everything up.

I wondered if she had already woken up, if she had eaten anything. And how we would handle giving her a bath.

I thought of her small and thin body, covered in bruises and cuts. She had been very close to total surrender, and apparently still was. But Donovan had said she thanked him. For what exactly, he hadn’t explained. But just knowing that she was sane enough to understand what was going on was an extra incentive to fight for her.

I didn’t care if I had to talk to her in detail, approaching cautiously and doing my best not to touch her. I just wanted her to be okay. And that, in the long run, was a real possibility. Donovan was there to prove that, although terrible and devastating, depression had a treatment. And an effective one.

So that was it. For an indefinite time, she was under our care. And we would do everything to help her recover from that dark nightmare that had dragged her to a beach on a cold and unusually deserted night in Rio.

With the house cleaning finished, I went down and headed to the parking lot. I told Donovan that I would stay with her at the hospital, and that’s what I would do.

May God help her.