Whenever relatives gently suggested he think about companionship again, he would simply smile and say, “When my daughters are settled, then I’ll think about myself.” And he meant it.
Years later, with my sister married and me working steadily in São Paulo, he finally had room to imagine a life for himself again. One quiet November evening, he called us in a voice I hadn’t heard in a long time—warm, hopeful, almost shy.
We were stunned. Larissa was thirty, half his age. She worked in accounting at a local company and had gone through her own life transitions. They had met at a yoga class at the community center—a class my father had joined to stay active and meet new people.
At first, my sister and I wondered whether the relationship made sense. But when we met Larissa, our assumptions melted away. She was calm, kind, thoughtful, and genuinely comfortable around my father.
The way she looked at him wasn’t about age or circumstance—it was about connection. And the way he looked at her carried a peace we hadn’t seen in him for years.
Their wedding was held in our family’s backyard under the shade of a large mango tree. Soft lights hung from the branches, and the tables were filled with simple home-cooked dishes. It wasn’t extravagant. It was warm, familiar, and full of genuine happiness.
