“Yes.” I took another sip of wine, emotionless. “A shame.”
She walked away swiftly, and I made sure anyone watching understood: I was not accessible.
When I finally left—nearly midnight—I did so without saying goodbye to anyone, ignoring the discreet looks that followed me to the door. My driver was waiting again, taking me back to the silence of my penthouse.
The moment I stepped inside, the emptiness pressed in on me. The place was flawless, expensive, and utterly quiet. Exactly how I had chosen to live. Usually, it didn’t bother me.
That night, for the first time in a long time, the silence felt unbearably loud.
I loosened my tie, a rare restlessness creeping under my skin. I needed to do something—anything—to keep my mind from turning in directions I couldn’t allow.
I walked into my private office and opened my laptop with more force than necessary, determined to use work as an emotional escape again.
As soon as the computer powered on, a list of urgent emails filled the screen. I scanned them quickly until one subject line stopped me cold:
URGENT — Serious Issue with the Dreamland Project
I clicked, irritation flaring as I read the few lines from the director in charge:
Mr. Ferrara, we need to speak first thing in the morning. A major complication has arisen regarding Dreamland, and it requires your personal attention immediately.
I exhaled, annoyed, and shut the laptop with a sharp movement.
I didn’t want to deal with it tonight.
Problems. Complications. Urgencies.
That was all my life had become.
FOUR
VALENTINA MUNIZ
The Sunday sun was pleasantly warm, filtering through the lush trees of Tiradentes’ central park.
Beside me, Clara bounced with excitement as she held Theo’s blue leash—Theo being the golden lab from one of our neighbors. She’d asked me to watch him for the weekend while she traveled for work.
Theo’s tail never stopped wagging. He seemed thrilled with our decision to bring him to the park, practically vibrating with impatience to join the other dogs gathered for the local “dog birthday party” a group of residents organized every month.
“Mommy, can I let Theo go now?” Clara asked, practically hopping in place. Her gray eyes shone with contagious excitement.
“You can,” I said, smiling as I watched her carefully unclip the leash. “But stay inside the fenced area, okay?”
Theo was trained—energetic, but obedient. The moment he was free, he bolted across the grass with endless stamina, racing toward the other dogs. Clara burst into laughter and ran after him, her joy so pure it warmed something deep in my chest in a way I couldn’t fully explain.
“Looks like someone’s happy today,” Júlia commented as she came up beside me, holding two steaming cups of coffee. She handed me one.
“And why wouldn’t she be?” I smiled back, accepting the warmth with a satisfied sigh. “She’s four years old. She has a happy dog. And cupcakes waiting for her later. I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of happiness.”
Júlia laughed, and we watched the park together. It was full—kids running and playing, adults chatting, and the dogs, the undeniable stars of the party, soaking up every second of freedom and attention.
A warm sense of belonging spread through my chest.
I loved this place. I loved Tiradentes—its people, its quiet, its steadiness. This was the life I had chosen. The life I had rebuilt with stubborn effort and determination after everything that had happened.
Theo sprinted back to me for a moment and nearly knocked me over, planting his front paws on my legs and begging for attention with pleading eyes.
“Theo!” I scolded, laughing as I scratched behind his ears. His tail wagged even faster.
