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There isn’t.
She told me I was merely an escape route. I understood that. She had been honest from the start, clearly stating her intentions and expectations. There would be no hearts drawn in the margins. I accepted it because I didn’t expect to fall for her. I didn’t expect her laughter to feel like sunlight breaking into all the cold places I had forgotten I had. I didn’t expect the way she curled into me at night to feel like being chosen.
When she gave herself to me, I thought we were past pretending, and that I was beginning to matter. But apparently, I was wrong.
I press the heels of my hands into the counter. My jaw grinds until my teeth ache. The knot in my chest pulls tighter, heavier, like it’s anchoring me to the floor.
I move through the house like a ghost, touching nothing, saying nothing. Just pacing through the hallway she used to brighten with her quiet routines—morning tea, phone calls in the sunroom, humming when she thought no one could hear.
I find myself in her room.
The door is slightly ajar, as if left that way on purpose. The bed is made—tighter than she ever kept it. She always left one pillow creased, one side slightly folded, like she planned to crawl back into it.
Not this time.
The room is stripped of her warmth. Closet doors open to reveal empty hangers. The jewelry tray on her vanity is bare.
Except for one thing.
A small, familiar velvet box. I walk over and lift the lid slowly, already knowing what’s inside.
Her wedding ring. I pick it up between my fingers. It’s light. Too light to carry the weight it was supposed to hold.
She left it behind as a way of telling me that she has left me and our fake marriage behind.
I close the box with more force than necessary and walk down the hall, fingers wrapped around soft velvet. My steps carry me to my room before I’ve even decided where I’m going.
I pull open the drawer of my nightstand where the bracelet is and drop the ring into the drawer beside it. It lands with a small, dull thud, and I slam the drawer shut. As if closing it could shut off everything I feel. It doesn’t. I sit on the edge of the bed, hands clenched between my knees. The silence presses in harder now, wrapping around my throat, my chest, my ribs. I can’t breathe in here. Not with the smell of her shampoo gone and the ghost of her laughter lingering like smoke.
She was the first person I let in. Not just into my space—but into the parts of me I never let anyone near.
I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first. The way I watched her without meaning to. The way her touch didn’t make my skin crawl. The way her voice could steady something in me without trying.
She called me her caveman.
Said it with a smirk. With affection.
And I let myself believe—just for a second—that she saw the real me. Not just the enforcer, but the man behind this hardened mask. The man who wants to have what everyone around him has found.
The next day, I go to see Thiago because all attempts to reach Mara have been impossible. He’s waiting in his office, shirt sleeves rolled up, sipping something expensive like he didn’t just help pull the rug out from under my life.
He gives me a long, unreadable look. “So,” he says, “you got the papers.”
I sit without asking.
“You knew she was going to divorce me?” I ask.
He nods once, slowly. “She told her mother and me two weeks ago.”
“You agreed to it?” My voice is flatter than I expect.
His jaw flexes. “No. But I didn’t stop her either.”
I stare at him.
“You think I want to see my daughter throw away her marriage?” He leans forward, elbows on the desk. “But I also won’t force her to live out the rest of her life with a cold, emotionless man.”
The words land with the weight of a verdict.