The part of me that had dressed so carefully for that dinner was furious that he hadn’t reacted at all—and had been lying shamelessly when I told myself I had done it for me.
I walked out the front door like a free, independent woman, in control of her own choices.
But I also walked out carrying a dull, inexplicable anger lodged deep in my stomach, refusing to leave.
Why hadn’t he tried to stop me?
Why did a part of me still want him to try?
Why had I expected to be questioned, challenged, provoked?
And worse—
Why had his silence hurt infinitely more than any shout ever could?
I barely registered the drive to the restaurant. My heart and head were so full I hardly noticed the road. I startled at the realization thatIhad driven there myself—it felt as if I’d been teleported.
Fabrício had chosen a table by the window. The restaurant was elegant, warm, softly lit—the kind of place that usually made me relax, forget life for a while.
But nothing felt normal that night. Nothing was in the right place—especially my heart.
Fabrício looked exactly as I remembered: elegant, kind, with that easy smile that drew attention without effort. The kind of man my friends would calla catch.
And there I was, sitting across from him, my heart racing since I’d left home—but not because of his smile.
“You look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” he said after we exchanged greetings, his gaze sincere and warm.
I smiled awkwardly, nervously adjusting the strap of my dress.
“And you still know exactly how to compliment someone.”
The waiter brought water, menus. I pretended to study the options, but my stomach made it very clear it wouldn’t accept food tonight.
“I have to admit, I was surprised when I heard you were… married,” Fabrício said after a moment, watching me carefully.
“Yeah… it’s complicated,” I murmured, shrugging in a failed attempt at casualness.
“I figured,” he replied with a brief, humorless laugh. Then he leaned back, his expression serious. “Truth is, Val… when I decided to come to Tiradentes, it wasn’t just to see an old friend. I hoped maybe… I could try something more with you.”
The air thickened instantly.
My throat went dry.
I stared at him, stunned, his words echoing inside my chest like a blow I hadn’t seen coming.
Romantic.
His intention was romantic.
And in one terrifying second, everything inside me screamedno.
Not because Fabrício was wrong, inappropriate, or poorly timed.
But because he didn’t matter.
He wasn’t right for me.
And that realization sent me into absolute panic.
