At seven sharp, Eliane stands at the bus station, the chill of the early morning brushing against her skin. She pulls her sweatshirt tighter around her, eyes scanning the quiet street. The metro bus rumbles into view, its headlights cutting through the dim dawn.
She steps forward as the doors hiss open and the few morning passengers shuffle inside. Eliane finds a seat by the window, her thoughts heavy but steady. Work awaits, but so does Ana's fragile state, and the faint warning of Rafael's possible return.
Back in Ana's bedroom, she dresses slowly, choosing a simple blouse and dark jeans — professional but comfortable. The ritual helps; the familiar motions steady her racing thoughts. She sits again at the edge of the bed and picks up her phone once more.
This time, she opens the voicemail inbox. Rafael's messages play again, his voice raw with regret and desperation. She listens without interruption, swallowing hard as the familiar ache twists inside her.
