When Luis crossed the dining room door, a strange feeling struck him.
It was not sudden like the headache from the previous morning, nor chaotic like the flood of memories that had invaded his mind. It was something softer… and at the same time deeper.
Nostalgia.
And mixed with it, a faint sense of displacement.
For a moment, he simply stood there observing the room.
The dining table was not particularly large, but it was elegant. Rectangular, made of polished dark wood, it occupied the center of the room. The morning light streamed through the tall windows and illuminated the shiny surface of the table, reflecting porcelain plates, silver cutlery, and coffee cups.
People were already seated.
The first figure his eyes found was his father.
Augusto de Alcântara Bragança e Castro.
Augusto was not an extraordinarily tall man, but there was something in his posture that naturally commanded respect. His presence was firm and confident, like that of someone accustomed to making decisions and taking responsibility.
He had a neatly trimmed beard, dark hair slightly combed back, and an attentive gaze that seemed to evaluate the world with constant prudence.
He was a handsome man.
But more than that: he conveyed reliability.
It was easy to understand why workers, administrators, and even neighbors in the region respected his authority.
At the table, his position stood out naturally. Not because of ostentation, but because of the silent logic of the house: he was the patriarch.
At the other end of the table sat Helena.
Elegant as always, though still with a shadow of concern in her eyes.
Luis noticed that she was watching him carefully, as if searching for signs of relapse.
Beside her sat Teresa.
And a little farther down the side of the table were Miguel and Maria, who had just taken their seats after Miguel had greeted Augusto and Helena.
When Luis entered the room, almost every gaze turned toward him.
His father spoke first.
"Luis."
The voice was firm but carried genuine concern.
"How are you feeling?"
Luis walked toward the table as he answered.
"Much better, Father."
Augusto observed him for a few seconds.
As if evaluating every detail.
Then he let out a long sigh.
"Good."
He discreetly pointed to the empty chair.
"Sit down."
Luis obeyed.
As he walked toward the chair, he noticed again his mother's attentive gaze.
Helena said nothing.
But her eyes still carried that subtle trace of maternal concern.
Luis pulled the chair.
But before sitting down, he noticed another look.
Teresa.
She was staring at him with almost painful intensity.
Her eyes were red.
As if she had been crying recently.
Luis blinked.
When he finally sat down, Teresa suddenly spoke.
"I was worried about you!"
The sentence came out quickly.
Emotionally.
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then several discreet smiles appeared around the table.
Luis immediately understood.
On that farm there were many adult workers.
But the number of young people was small.
Children and teenagers were few.
Something between twelve and fifteen at most.
Luis knew all of them.
But only two truly belonged to his closest circle.
Matheus and Teresa.
The children of Miguel and Maria.
Matheus was eighteen.
The same age as Luis.
And he was practically his opposite.
Luis had always been calmer, curious, inclined toward books, conversations, and observation.
Matheus, on the other hand…
Well.
Matheus liked to drink.
He liked to fight.
He liked to flirt with any girl who crossed his path.
And he had an impressive talent for getting into trouble.
Unfortunately, he almost always dragged Luis along with him.
Teresa was completely different.
Gentle.
Cheerful.
Delicate.
But she also possessed surprising courage.
And a certain boldness that sometimes appeared at the most unexpected moments.
Over the years, she had grown closer and closer to Luis.
And that closeness… had slowly turned into something more.
Her feelings were obvious.
Luis knew that.
And to be honest with himself…
He felt something too.
How could he not?
Teresa was beautiful.
Maria's beauty seemed to have been inherited by her almost perfectly.
Luis looked at her.
Hesitated for a second.
Then he raised his hand and gently touched her head.
A simple gesture.
Natural.
"I'm fine," he said calmly. "You don't need to worry."
Teresa froze.
Her face turned red immediately.
Red as a ripe apple.
Around the table, several people held back laughter.
Helena discreetly brought a hand to her mouth.
Augusto looked down at his coffee cup.
Miguel cleared his throat.
Maria tried to look busy with the milk pitcher.
But everyone was clearly amused.
Teresa, meanwhile, quickly lowered her head.
Almost burying her face in her own chest.
The silence was dangerously close to turning into laughter.
Luis sensed the danger.
He cleared his throat discreetly.
"Ahem…"
Then he looked around the table.
"Where is Matheus?"
Miguel answered immediately.
But not happily.
He let out a long sigh.
Then frowned.
"That boy left early."
Luis tilted his head.
"Left?"
Miguel crossed his arms.
"He took a horse before breakfast."
His scowl deepened.
"And he still hasn't come back."
He shook his head.
"When I get my hands on him…"
Miguel left the sentence hanging in the air.
Everyone at the table began to laugh.
Even Teresa lifted her head again, still red but smiling.
The atmosphere immediately grew lighter.
Breakfast continued.
Dishes were served.
Fresh bread.
Fruit.
Cheese.
Conversations arose naturally.
Augusto spoke about the recent harvest.
Miguel mentioned some workers who had asked for new tools.
Maria discussed fabrics and dresses with Helena.
Helena, in turn, found great amusement in teasing Luis and Teresa.
"Luis, dear…" she said at one point, "perhaps we should prepare an extra room."
Luis raised an eyebrow.
"An extra room?"
Helena smiled innocently.
"For future visitors, of course."
Teresa almost dropped her cup.
Augusto chuckled quietly.
Luis sighed.
"Mother…"
But Helena only smiled even more.
Breakfast continued like that for several minutes.
Simple.
Calm.
Familiar.
Until finally…
Luis realized he would not be able to avoid it much longer.
The question had been in his mind since the corridor.
He had tried to ignore it.
But his curiosity simply would not allow it.
Luis set his cup down on the table.
Took a deep breath.
Then looked directly at his father.
"Father."
Augusto raised his gaze.
"Yes?"
Luis hesitated for only a second.
Then he spoke.
"The Empire fell recently…"
The room grew a little quieter.
He continued.
"So why weren't we expelled from Brazil?"
Augusto remained silent.
Luis finished the question.
"And why do we still have this farm?"
Now the room was completely quiet.
Everyone was looking at Augusto.
The family patriarch calmly placed his cup on the table.
And looked at his son with an expression that mixed surprise… and interest.