Shattered Fragments of Us

Episode 1

My name is Luiz Felipo Andrade. I'm thirty-six years old, a federal lawyer, Andressa's husband for almost eight years, and father to little Elisa, my seven-year-old girl. To anyone looking in, I have the perfect life.

I wake up every day at six in the morning. I drink a strong coffee, take Elisa to school, review reports at the office, and, when I have time, run a few good kilometers on the treadmill. Andressa usually says I'm too methodical, almost predictable. Maybe she's right. Maybe predictability is my refuge.

Today, as always, I woke up with the alarm vibrating next to the bed. The sound is discreet, but enough to pull me out of unconsciousness. Andressa was still sleeping next to me, her hair spread on the pillow, her breathing calm. For a moment, I watched her. She was beautiful. She always has been. But... something inside me tightened, as if I were looking at someone I should love more than I do.

I felt a strange weight in my chest, an uncomfortable twinge that made me turn my face. I got up, put on my sweatpants, and went down to the kitchen. The routine was starting.

Whole wheat bread, scrambled eggs, a sip of coffee while checking my cell phone—three messages from the department, a notification from Elisa asking for another "princess drawing," and nothing else. I opened the refrigerator, took my daughter's favorite juice, and packed her lunchbox. Even the automatic movements had an almost surgical precision. I knew exactly where everything was, how long it took to boil the water, the right angle to grab the butter without knocking over the jars.

Nothing but the subtle silence of a house that seems in order, but sometimes sounds too empty.

"Good morning, Daddy!" Elisa appeared running, grabbing my waist with her small arms and smiling with all her teeth, except the two in the front.

"Good morning, dear," I replied, hugging her back.

The warmth of her hug was real. It always has been. The only thing that still made absolute sense. Elisa was my world. Maybe that's why I was still here. For her.

Andressa appeared soon after, adjusting her robe, her hair in a messy bun. She kissed me on the cheek and sat at the table, messing with her cell phone, her eyes half-closed with sleep.

"Are you leaving on time today?" she asked, without taking her eyes off the screen.

"I'll try. There's a meeting with the feds about that operation at the port. But I promise I won't be long."

She nodded with a murmur and continued sliding her finger across the cell phone. Silence. That kind of comfortable silence for some couples. For me, it was uncomfortable. It felt like we were following a script. Actors in a play rehearsed a thousand times, where each line has already lost its soul.

And yet, no one was to blame.

In the car, on the way to school, Elisa told me a story about a dragon that learned to sing. She was always making things up. She had a vivid, intense imagination. I listened, smiled, and reacted as if I were completely present. But, inside, part of me seemed to always be somewhere else.

I left my daughter at the school gate, waved to the teacher, and went straight to the office. There, the day dragged on. A pile of papers, reports, formal meetings, and calls that never seemed to end. I resolved a case, contacted the local police station, reviewed files of an international investigation about to cross borders. Something about trafficking in confidential information. Typical.

But, in the middle of the routine, between one report and another, I was invaded by a strange thought. A quick image. A smile. A touch. But from whom?

I closed my eyes for a moment. I tried to remember. The face didn't come. Only the feeling. Warmth. Desire. Pain.

It didn't make sense.

I sighed deeply and returned to work. Maybe it was just tiredness, or accumulated stress. But this wasn't the first time. And, every time it happened, my heart beat faster. As if someone was trying to scream from the depths of my mind.

An echo. A ghost of something I can't name.

At the end of the day, I stood for a few minutes in front of my office window. The sun was hiding behind the buildings, painting the sky orange and lilac. The city lights were starting to emerge, like stars that are too eager.

I thought about staying a little longer. Just to postpone going home. But I couldn't do that to Elisa. She was waiting for me.

I went home. I had dinner with Elisa, told her a story, and put her to sleep. She fell asleep quickly, clutching the bear she got last Christmas.

After putting Elisa to bed, I closed the door carefully and went straight to the bathroom. The cold light came on with a slight crackle. I put my hands on the marble sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

There was something in my eyes that bothered me. It wasn't the tiredness. Nor the dark circles. It was... absence.

A kind of emptiness that is not filled with a father's love, with financial stability, with an organized routine. It was something older. More visceral.

I ran my fingers over my face, as if that would help me remember. But remember what?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. And then, again, came the feeling. As quick as a flash. A touch on my neck. Firm fingers. Panting breath against my skin. A muffled laugh. A moan.

I gasped and opened my eyes with a start.

"What the hell was that?"

I took my hand to my chest. My heart racing. A senseless adrenaline rush.

I smelled it. As if someone had passed by me. A perfume I didn't know... but that my body seemed to recognize. Warm. Woody. Familiar.

I touched my lips, as if I wanted to remember the taste of a forgotten kiss.

Why did that seem so real?

Memories of something I don't remember having lived. As if part of me had been erased.

I lowered my head, rested my arms on the sink, and let the water run. Cold. Freezing. I needed to control myself.

This didn't make sense. I had a life. A wife. A daughter.

And yet... it seemed like half of me was still lost somewhere. A place where someone else's touch made me whole.

Andressa was already in the room, on her cell phone as always. I lay down next to her and looked at the ceiling.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, without looking away.