Episode 3

Saturday dragged on. I was sitting in the living room, pretending to read something on my phone, but in reality, each step Shamantha took down the hallway hurt me more than the last. The sound of her heel hitting the floor was like a cruel reminder: she always had time to go out—never to stay.

She appeared in the doorway with her usual pose: a discreet bag hanging on her shoulder, hair loose, light but impeccable makeup. The same sweet perfume that once enchanted me filled the room for a second. And, in that second, all I felt was distance.

"Are you going out?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Yes. I need to sort out some things with Silvia," she replied without looking me in the eye. And without any effort to seem convincing.

I just nodded. I no longer had the strength to argue. The words had lost their meaning. The excuses, their weight. She left without even saying goodbye.

I stayed there for a few minutes, trying to decide whether to remain trapped in that silence or find a way to escape myself. I grabbed the keys and left. I needed to breathe. To think. Or maybe just drive, aimlessly, like someone trying to escape an internal fire.

After driving around for a while, I stopped at a cafe downtown. It was one of my favorite places before I got married. A place where time seemed to slow down. As soon as I walked in, I smelled fresh coffee and soft instrumental music. For a moment, I almost felt peace.

But it didn't last long.

I froze.

There, in the corner of the room, was her. Shamantha. With Rodrigo.

They weren't just talking. They were too close. Their eyes glued together, their gestures too intimate. Rodrigo was holding her hand, and she was caressing his fingers with a naturalness I hadn't seen in recent months.

I couldn't breathe. Everything around me disappeared. The floor, the sound, the smell of coffee… everything vanished. All that remained was that scene. The betrayal stamped right there. The confirmation of what my heart had been screaming for a long time, but that my mind insisted on denying.

Rodrigo leaned in and whispered something in her ear. And she smiled.

She smiled. With a sparkle she hadn't used with me for a long time.

At that moment, I thought about going over there. Confronting them. Yelling. Saying everything that was stuck in my throat. Asking why.

But no.

I took a step back. Then another. And I left. I left with my heart in pieces and my dignity hanging by a thread. I left as if I had never entered. No one noticed. No one noticed the shattered man crossing the doorway.

Outside, the sun no longer shone as before.

And there I understood: the end wouldn't come with an explosion. It was coming little by little. In silence. In every cold morning. In every excuse. In every denied kiss.

And now… in that cafe.

(Shamantha)

I drove back home with my hands firmly on the steering wheel, but my thoughts far away. I could still feel Rodrigo's touch on my skin, his easy laughter, the lightness of our meeting. How long had it been since I felt like that? Free. Desired. Alive.

But when I looked at the clock and saw that it was past ten, I felt that familiar cold in my stomach. Leonardo.

I could already imagine the scene: him on the couch, a closed expression on his face, arms crossed, ready to interrogate me. Always the same. The tension grew between us like a bomb about to explode.

I parked in the garage, took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and went inside. I entered slowly, like someone who already feels guilty even before being accused.

But, to my surprise, everything was silent. The house was dark. No lights on. Nothing.

"Leonardo?" I called softly, taking off my shoes.

Silence.

I checked the kitchen. The bedroom. Even the bathroom. Nothing.

I sighed. A bitter relief.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn't there. He wasn't waiting. He wasn't complaining. He wasn't… anywhere.

I sat on the sofa with a cup of tea. I turned on the television, put on any channel just to drown out the sound of my thoughts. And I stayed there, motionless. Outwardly, calm. Inwardly… restless.

Half-past eleven.

Midnight.

Nothing.

I got up and started pacing. I picked up my phone. I called. It went to voicemail. I tried again. And again.

"Answer, Leonardo…" I murmured, my throat tight.

I tried to remember if he had mentioned any outing. Any appointment. Nothing. His silence that morning had been different. Heavier. As if he had already given up on me and I hadn't noticed.

At one in the morning, I called three more times. Nothing. No message. No sign.

At two, tired and with my heart racing, I lay down. But sleep didn't come.

The pillow next to me was cold. Untouched. A silent warning that something was really wrong. Leonardo always came back. Always.

My chest ached. My mind raced. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel anger… I felt fear.

What if something had happened?

What if...

I turned over, hugged the pillow, and closed my eyes tightly. But it was useless. The guilt was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, whispering everything I had avoided hearing for so long.

And in that silent dawn, I realized: as much as I had believed that I no longer loved him, his absence hurt me in a place I didn't even know existed.

And maybe… just maybe…

I was realizing this too late.

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