Chapter 5 - THE NURSE WHO HAD HER OWN DEBTS
I hadn't told Dante why I needed the job.
It wasn't his responsibility.
And I didn't want my personal problems becoming part of his treatment.
But the truth was simple.
I was drowning financially.
My father, João Oliveira, had been a mechanic.
He raised me in a small apartment on the east side of São Paulo after my mother died.
He worked long hours.
Fixed neighbors' cars for almost nothing.
And believed education could give me a future he hadn't been able to afford.
When I entered nursing school, he cried.
Not because he was sad.
Because he was proud.
Then, three years later, he developed a serious heart condition.
His medical care was complicated.
His ability to work disappeared.
And the bills began piling up.
I worked double shifts.
Accepted overtime.
Sold my car.
Moved into a smaller apartment.
Eventually, I borrowed money to cover expenses.
My father died the previous autumn.
I was thirty-two.
And exhausted.
The grief was bad enough.
But the debts remained.
I owed more than one hundred and eighty thousand reais across loans and outstanding obligations.
The one-million-real check Augusto offered could have changed my life.
Paid everything.
Allowed me to return to school.
Helped me open the community nursing center I'd dreamed about.
For a moment, I'd wanted to accept it immediately.
Then I looked at Dante.
The man everyone expected me to fix.
And I knew I couldn't make a promise medicine didn't support.
That evening, Augusto found me sitting in the staff kitchen.
He placed a plate of pão de queijo beside me.
"You're not eating enough."
I smiled.
"Occupational hazard."
He sat opposite me.
"Your father?"
I looked up.
"What?"
"Mrs. Bennett mentioned you'd lost him."
I nodded.
"Last year."
Augusto's expression softened.
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he asked, "Is that why you accepted this job?"
I considered the question.
"Partly."
He nodded.
"I understand."
I looked toward the hallway.
"And partly because Dante reminded me of Dad."
Augusto raised his eyebrows.
"How?"
I smiled sadly.
"My father hated needing help."
The old man nodded slowly.
"He'd rather spend three hours trying to button his shirt than admit his hands were too weak."
My throat tightened.
"Dante has the same expression when someone offers to do something for him."
Augusto looked down.
Then whispered, "He was different before."
I studied him.
"Was he?"
"Oh, he was still difficult."
I laughed.
Augusto smiled.
"But he laughed more. He played piano. He visited the kitchen at night and stole leftover desserts."
My expression softened.
"He played piano?"
"Beautifully."
I thought of the silent music room.
The locked doors.
The expensive house that had become a museum of abilities Dante believed he'd lost.
Augusto continued.
"After the accident, he stopped doing everything he loved."
I nodded.
"That's common after a life-changing injury. He may benefit from psychological support alongside rehabilitation."
Augusto sighed.
"I've suggested it."
"How did he respond?"
"He told me to stop treating him like a broken appliance."
I laughed despite myself.
"At least his vocabulary is creative."
Augusto smiled.
Then became serious.
"Marina, I haven't forgotten the check."
I looked up.
He continued.
"The money is still available if Dante begins participating."
I took a breath.
"Augusto, I can't accept a secret bonus tied to his medical decisions."
His expression fell.
"But you've already helped him."
"Then arrange fair compensation for the work I actually do, through a transparent agreement. My clinical judgment can't be for sale."
The old man studied me.
Then nodded slowly.
"You're right."
I smiled.
He looked emotional.
"Your father raised a good woman."
My eyes filled.
"Thank you."
Neither of us noticed Dante sitting in the hallway.
He'd come to ask for another pain assessment.
Instead, he heard the final part of our conversation.
And for the first time, he realized the nurse who refused a million reais wasn't wealthy.
She was struggling.
Yet she had refused to turn his suffering into a bargain.
Something changed in his expression.
He turned his wheelchair away before we saw him.
May you like
And that night, for the first time since the accident, Dante Montenegro asked Augusto to schedule his next rehabilitation session.
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