No children.
No property in my name.
Not a single word to try to convince me to stay.
The house I once called family was on a quiet street in Curitiba, the city I moved to after leaving my hometown of Salvador shortly after getting married.
The day I crossed that black iron gate, the Brazilian sun shone brightly in the sky. The light fell on the red-tiled patio, warming everything around it.
But inside… I was frozen.
My mother-in-law, Doña Carmen, stood on the terrace with her arms crossed.
She watched me with an expression somewhere between satisfaction and contempt, as if she’d finally rid herself of something bothersome.
My sister-in-law, Luciana, was beside her, a crooked smile playing on her lips.
“Just leave already, so you stop getting in the way,” she said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.
My ex-husband, Alejandro, wasn’t there.
He didn’t even come out to say goodbye.
Perhaps he was somewhere inside the house.
Or perhaps he’d left early to avoid witnessing the scene.
Either way… it didn’t matter anymore.
I didn’t ask to take anything.
No arguments.
