Chapter 1
This story is about rebuilding. About loving with fear still in your chest. About choosing to stay when leaving feels safer. I hope Clara makes you believe that what’s left of you can still be loved.
“So, we have a deal?”
I reach my hand across the table and Mr. Henrique shakes it firmly, smiling.
“Deal, Clara. You were the only one who understood exactly what I wanted. The other firms brought me pretty projects. Yours brought me what I needed.”
My assistant is already preparing the documents on the other side of the table. I sign first, then him. The click of the pen against the contract is small, but it echoes inside me in a way I’ll never get tired of feeling.
“I’ll take it from here,” I say, gathering my copy. “You’re going to love the result.”
He stands, shakes my team’s hands one by one, and leaves satisfied.
The door closes.
Only then do I let the smile take over my whole face.
“Congratulations, Clara.” Mara, my assistant, says it quietly, like she knows I need a second just to feel it.
“Thank you.” I look around the conference room — the scattered plans, the scale models, the hours we poured into this space. “Thank you, all of you.”
The team starts packing up. I glance at the clock. Almost eight. My stomach tightens instantly. I rush to my office before I leave, but the moment I open the door, I already feel the cold air coming from inside.
Marcelo.
He’s not at home. He’s here, and that’s not a good sign. The sound of my heels against the dark wood floor makes him notice me walking in. He turns his hardened face and his eyes land on me. Sitting in my chair, he stays that way as I step inside.
“Good evening, Marcelo.”
I keep putting things away, shutting off the electronics. He stays seated, silent.
“Is this really the time you’re still here?”
I roll my eyes. I’m tired of these conversations.
“I’m working, Marcelo. Some clients can’t come during business hours. I’m not in a position to say no.”
He lets out a cruel laugh.
“You can say no to whoever you want. You’re married to me. You don’t need this shit.”
“Don’t call it shit. It’s my job. I like being here.”
He slams his hand on the desk, freezing me in place.
“I want you at home, taking care of your family. My money buys this place five times over.”
“Exactly, Marcelo. Your money. Your house. Your job. I want my own space too.”
He stands and walks toward me.
“What’s mine is yours. There. Isn’t that enough?”
I look down, gripping my bag. No. It isn’t enough. Because every day I have to hear that I’m nothing without you.
“Enough, Marcelo. I’m tired. I just want to go home and sleep.”
I walk out the door and seconds later I feel my wrist being grabbed. He spins me around.
“And me? When are you going to have time for me?” he says, right against my face.
His voice cuts through me like a blade against skin. My body goes on alert, begging us to pull apart.
“Stop, Marcelo. I’m always at home. I do what you ask. Let me work.”
“I am letting you, aren’t I? I’m being” — he clicks his tongue — “reasonable. But what about you?”
“Me what? Let go of me! You’re hurting me.”
“Not yet... but I’m losing my patience.”
He yanks my arm harder, throwing me against his body, so much bigger than mine.
“I’ve been giving you too much rope. Enough of this. I’m shutting this place down.”
I start struggling, trying to break free, but he won’t let go.
“Stop! Please! Don’t do this.” My eyes fill with tears. “Why are you like this? What did I do to you?”
“Because my wife walks around like she’s anybody. And you’re not. You’re mine, Clara.”
I swallow hard as his eyes meet mine. My skin crawls. I’m spiraling, unable to control my emotions lately.
I start struggling harder and he grips me tighter. It hurts. So I kick, not too hard, between his legs. Completely desperate. He howls and lets go, shoving me back in shock.
My heel misses the step. I lose my balance and feel my body falling.
“MARCELO!!!”
I try to grab the hand he stretches out to me, but it’s too late. Our fingers touch, but not enough.
Too late.
Please help me.
My body slams against the steps and I keep rolling, praying everything will be okay. Until my eyes start to close.
Slowly.
