It all ended quietly, almost as if it had never meant anything at all.
The house I once believed was my home stood behind me on a calm street in Curitiba. I had moved there years ago, leaving behind Salvador, my city, my people, everything I knew. I had come with hope, with dreams, with the belief that I was building a life with someone who would stand by me.
That morning, the sun was bright. It lit up the red tiles in the courtyard and warmed the walls of the house. Everything outside looked peaceful, almost beautiful.
But inside me, everything felt cold.
My mother-in-law, Doña Carmen, stood on the terrace with her arms crossed. Her eyes followed me, and there was something in her expression that made my chest tighten. It was not sadness. It was not regret. It looked more like relief… or even satisfaction.
As if I was something she had finally gotten rid of.
