Episode 1

The persistent smell of disinfectant still hung in the air when Sofia opened her eyes. The white light of the hospital stung her retinas, forcing her to blink several times before she could focus on the ceiling above her. Her whole body felt heavy, as if it had been crushed by something invisible during the night. Her throat was dry, and each breath came with a dull pain in her chest.

It took her a few seconds to remember where she was.

Hospital. Rio de Janeiro.

The distant sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor mixed with the rhythmic beep of some medical equipment. Sofia slowly turned her head to the side and saw the needle of the IV stuck to the back of her hand. A purplish bruise marked the spot, a reminder of how many times they had tried to find a vein during the night.

Fainted again, she thought, with bitter irony.

It wasn't the first time, nor the second.

What made her laugh, without humor, was realizing that, even unconscious, her body remained faithful to its old habit: enduring everything in silence.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Fragmented images returned to her mind—the argument the night before, the sudden dizziness, the cold floor approaching too quickly. Then, nothing.

But there was something heavier than the physical pain.

One year and three months of marriage.

That was how long Sofia had been Bruno Soares' wife.

Too short a period to call a "lifetime," but long enough to consume everything she had: patience, expectations, dignity... and, in the end, even love.

She took a deep breath, trying to control the knot that formed in her throat. She didn't want to cry. Not there, not now. Crying had already become too expensive a luxury for someone who had learned to swallow their own emotions.

The door to the room opened with a slight creak. Sofia instinctively turned her face, her heart racing for a split second—a foolish, almost ridiculous hope.

But it wasn't Bruno.

A nurse entered, smiling professionally, quickly checking the equipment around the bed.

"You're awake," she said in a gentle tone. "How are you feeling?"

Sofia took a while to answer.

"Alive," she murmured finally. "I guess that's enough."

The nurse didn't comment. She adjusted the IV, asked a few basic questions, and wrote something on the clipboard before leaving. The door closed again, leaving the room plunged into an uncomfortable silence.

Sofia's cell phone was on the bedside table.

She stared at it for long seconds before reaching out, ignoring the stab of pain in her shoulder. The screen lit up, revealing several unread notifications.

None from Bruno.

No missed calls.

No messages.

The smile that appeared on Sofia's lips was slow, cold, and full of self-mockery.

Of course not.

She unlocked the phone and opened the only conversation that really mattered at that moment. The name on the screen was not her husband's, but his assistant's.

Antoine.

The last message had been sent hours before, when she was still conscious:

"Mr. Bruno will not be able to attend the hospital. If you need anything, please contact me."

Below that, there was an attached file.

Sofia touched the screen.

The document opened slowly, as if wanting to prolong that cruel moment.

"DIVORCE AGREEMENT."

She didn't blink. She didn't widen her eyes. She didn't feel the shock one would expect from someone receiving a divorce request while still hospitalized.

Because, deep down, she already knew.

Bruno had never been the type to deal with problems head-on. For him, everything could be resolved by third parties, contracts, and signatures. Emotions were an unnecessary inconvenience.

She swiped her finger across the screen, reading each clause with surprising attention. Division of assets. Rights. Obligations.

Everything was there.

And yet, nothing seemed to really belong to her.

Sofia turned off her cell phone and placed it back on the table. She turned her face towards the window. Outside, the Rio sky was an intense blue, almost offensive in contrast to the silent chaos unfolding inside her.

She thought of all the times she had waited for Bruno.

The dinner that was getting cold on the table.

The unanswered messages.

Her last birthday alone.

The indifferent looks, the constant absences, the coldness that had infiltrated the relationship like a slow, incurable disease.

She had tried.

God, how she had tried.

She had learned to cook dishes he liked, even burning her fingers. She had abandoned jobs, friends, dreams, everything to fit into his life. She had smiled when she should have screamed. She had kept silent when she should have left.

And, in the end, not even a "how are you?" had been granted to her.

The doctor appeared later, confirming that the drop in blood pressure had been caused by exhaustion and hypoglycemia. He recommended rest, proper nutrition, and less stress.

Sofia just nodded.

Less stress.

As if it were simple.

In the early evening, after signing the medical release, she left the hospital. The humid coastal wind enveloped her as soon as she walked out the main door. For the first time in hours, she felt the air enter her lungs freely.

She called a car and gave the address of the house where she lived with Bruno—the seaside villa, a symbol of a marriage that only looked perfect in magazines.

During the journey, she remained silent, watching the city pass by the window. Rio was still beautiful, vibrant, indifferent to her pain.

Upon arriving, she was greeted by Maria, the housekeeper, who immediately showed concern when she saw her pale.

"Mrs.Sofia, what happened? Does Mr. Bruno know you were in the hospital?"

Sofia forced a smile.

"It was just my stomach," she replied. "I'm better now."

Lie.

But it was easier that way.

She went up to the room, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it for a few seconds. The environment was exactly as she had left it: impeccable, cold, impersonal.

She walked to the dresser and, without hesitation, removed the wedding ring from her finger.

The ring was beautiful. Expensive. Brilliant.

And now, absurdly ironic.

Sofia placed it on the nightstand, where the light reflected almost cruelly on the diamond. That small circumference of metal had symbolized promises that were never kept.

She picked up her cell phone again and typed a short message to Antoine:

"Tomorrow, at nine in the morning. Rio Registry Office. I'll sign everything."

Sent.

After that, there was nothing more to say.

She opened the closet and took out a small suitcase. She packed only the essentials: a few clothes, documents, the camera she hadn't used in months. She looked around the room one last time.

Nothing there truly belonged to her.

Without telling anyone, Sofia left the house.

Elsewhere in the city, Bruno was informed that his wife had accepted the divorce and would leave without taking anything.

He frowned, a contemptuous smile appearing on his lips.

"Playing hard now?" he muttered. "She wants me to come after her."

He didn't know.

Not yet.

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