Fernanda and her daughter Carlinha followed the guard into the woods along a well-kept trail. As they advanced, they could see other men, strong and busy, loading and unloading sacks of goods. Many looked at the two newcomers with caution, but others, just like the guard, cast glances of compassion. For Fernanda and Carla's skinny, tired legs, that walk under the thick forest canopy seemed endless.

  After a while, they reached a cluster of mocambos, but this was not their final destination. They walked a little further until the vegetation began to open up, revealing a scene that made Fernanda hold her breath. They had arrived at a part of the quilombo with streets made of a smooth, gray material, flanked by sidewalks of the same material—concrete—with several trees providing generous shade. People walked to and fro, pushing wheelbarrows and carrying tools and merchandise, in a hubbub of peaceful activity.

  It didn't take long for them to reach what seemed to be the center of the community. There, life was bustling. People were looking into the windows of well-organized shops, and constructions using strange materials structures were rising under the sun. The guard headed for one of these shops, an establishment with a simple sign that read "Sweet Snow Ice Cream Parlor." Inside, a familiar figure was serving a customer.

  "Daddy!"

  Carla, in a burst of energy and recognition that Fernanda had thought was extinct, let go of her mother's hand and ran towards the shop, her bare feet slapping on the concrete floor.

  "Nala, take care of this customer for me!" said Jorginho, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion. Nala, the young assistant, just nodded and took his place.

  For a moment, Jorginho's face disappeared from view behind the counter. But he soon reappeared, coming from the back of the shop. And, to the astonishment of Fernanda, who had remained paralyzed at the entrance, he was... different. More filled out, his face fuller, his skin with a healthier tone, and his shoulders broader. He wasn't wearing the worn-out clothes from before, but a simple cotton shirt, clean and intact. His eyes, which she remembered as dull with worry, now shone.

  He quickly knelt and opened his arms, and Carla threw herself into them, burying her face in his neck.

  "I missed you so much, little girl!" he whispered, his voice choked, while holding the girl with a strength that seemed to want to protect her from all the evil in the world.

  The girl soon burst into tears, sobbing convulsively, taking a long time to calm down, while Jorginho rocked her gently, murmuring words of comfort.

  When Carla finally calmed down, panting and with a wet face, he set her down but kept a protective hand on her shoulder. His eyes then met Fernanda's, who was still, trying to take it all in.

  "Let's go home," he said, his voice laden with contained emotion. "I have so much to tell you! So much to show you!"

  Fernanda was surprised to hear that.

  "You... you have a house?" she asked, unable to disguise her astonishment.

  "Well," he laughed, a sound that was music to her ears, "I rented a little mud house. But the Chief informed me that I'm already on the list to live in one of the new masonry houses, as soon as they're ready."

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  After a short walk down one of the side streets, they stopped in front of a small house, modest on the outside, with packed mud walls and a thatched roof. But when Jorginho opened the door, Fernanda felt the air leave her lungs. The interior was simple, but well furnished: a solid wooden table with four chairs, a rustic cabinet, organized tin plates and cutlery, and even a small chest in the corner. There was a pleasant smell of cleanliness and dried herbs hanging on the wall.

  Fernanda entered slowly, her eyes scanning every detail, every object, as if she were in a dream.

  "It's not as pretty as our house from when we were married..." she commented, her voice a thread of nostalgia.

  "But it's much better than the house I abandoned..." she completed, in a whisper full of meaning.

  Jorginho smiled, a smile that reached his eyes.

  "But it has one beautiful difference, Fernanda. Here, we have as much food as we want." He turned to his daughter, his eyes shining. "And by the way, tomorrow, Carlinha, Daddy is going to make you a delicious sweet treat that's a huge hit here. It's called ice cream!"

  "Yayyy!" shouted the girl, jumping for joy, her fatigue momentarily forgotten.

  Fernanda finally allowed herself to sit in one of the chairs, her tired body sinking into the seat with a deep sigh of relief.

  "So... what you do here is this ice cream? You work at that shop?"

  Jorginho, animated, picked up a peculiar pot—made of heavy metal, with a lid that had a valve on top: a pressure cooker. He filled it with water and beans, and some pieces of dried meat. In other pots, he simply put water to later prepare the rice and cassava, and began lighting the fire in the small wood stove.

  "Yes! This month, I earned three hundred réis in salary."

  Fernanda opened her mouth to comment on how low that amount was, an instinct from her previous life, but Jorginho interrupted her, anticipating her objection.

  "But wait!" he said, raising a finger. "A ready-made lunch in the village costs one réis. The monthly groceries for the three of us would be about forty réis. The rent for this house is forty réis. Everything here is much, much cheaper than in White Sand." He pointed to the furniture. "In fact, I bought all of this in installments, at low prices too. Money goes a long way here, Fernanda. Tomorrow, after we go to the town hall, we can buy new clothes for you both!"

  Fernanda and Carla were already almost salivating from the delicious smell beginning to escape from the pressure cooker, an aroma of hearty, home-cooked food they hadn't experienced in an eternity. Even so, the mother focused on the conversation, fascinated by the new environment.

  "Town hall?" she repeated, confused.

  "Yes! We have to go there to register your arrival and see if we can get a good job for you. And Carlinha," he looked at his daughter with pride, "will start studying in February. She'll learn to read, to write, to count. And we will be able to work in peace, knowing she is safe and learning."

  Fernanda absorbed each new piece of information, each part of this puzzle of a new life, as Jorginho finished preparing the food. Soon, the table was set, and a simple, but plentiful and nutritious meal was served.

  Fernanda and Carla couldn't contain themselves. They ate almost frantically, as if they feared the food might disappear, choking and blowing on the hot pieces of cassava with an urgency that broke Jorginho's heart in two.

  He tried to hold back the tears stubbornly welling in his eyes upon seeing his family in such a precarious state, a situation for which he felt, in part, responsible for not having been able to prevent. But now, seeing them there, safe and under his roof, the emotion was too strong. He bowed his head and began to cry silently, his tears falling onto his own plate of food.

  Carla, noticing, stopped eating and looked at her mother, her eyes wide with worry.

  "Mommy, why is Daddy crying?"

  Fernanda, who understood perfectly the whirlwind of relief, guilt, joy, and pain swirling in her husband's heart, wiped her own mouth with the back of her hand and looked at her daughter. With a calm she hadn't felt in a very, very long time, she replied, as a single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  "He's just crying from happiness, my flower. From happiness at finally having us back."