The first ray of sunlight pierced through the curtain when Clara's cell phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Still drowsy, she turned over in bed, stretching her arm to grab the device.
The screen displayed a message notification. Known number. Hers… Eduardo's.
Her heart skipped a beat.
For a second, she imagined it was something trivial… a routine message, or perhaps, who knows, a late apology for all the absurdities of the last few days.
But as soon as she unlocked the screen… the world around her seemed to stop.
There, before her eyes… the photo.
Eduardo… sleeping… shirtless… the sheets tangled…
And Amanda. Smiling. Positioned next to him as if she owned the scene.
A short phrase accompanied the image:
"While you sleep alone… he sleeps like this."
For a few seconds, Clara just stared at the screen in silence.
The blood began to boil in her veins, as if her whole body was engulfed in a hot, suffocating wave.
She felt her stomach turn, her throat close.
Her chest tighten.
She knew…
Deep down, she always knew.
But to see it that way… blatant… so cruelly explicit…
It was like being punched.
She threw the cell phone on the bed with force, taking a deep breath to avoid screaming.
For a few moments, she paced the room in circles, her hands trembling, her heart racing.
Memories of the night before – the happy hour, the laughter, the feeling of freedom – seemed like a distant dream now.
But, when she stopped in front of the mirror, something changed.
Tears?
Not this time.
Clara took a deep breath.
Straightened her shoulders.
And let the anger… turn into strength.
She went downstairs with firm steps.
In the kitchen, Eduardo was sitting at the table, with the newspaper folded beside him and a cup of coffee in his hands. He was wearing the same light blue dress shirt as always, impeccable as if he were the perfect husband.
"Good morning." He said, without even looking up from his cell phone.
Clara stopped at the door, observing that scene with a mixture of disgust and disbelief.
How could he? How could he act so naturally after everything?
She approached the coffee maker, poured herself some coffee, and, before bringing the cup to her lips, spoke in a low voice… but full of venom:
"Did you sleep well…?"
Eduardo raised his eyes, surprised by her tone.
"I did, actually. Why?"
She just smiled sideways, as if the answer were too obvious.
"Just curious." She replied, taking the coffee to her mouth.
He watched her for a second longer than usual, perhaps suspicious, perhaps just intrigued… but soon returned to his cell phone.
"I'm leaving earlier today. I have a meeting with a supplier." He commented, casually.
Clara just nodded, without taking her eyes off him.
Inside, every cell in her body screamed.
Every fiber wanted to throw that cup of coffee in his face.
She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to break everything.
But no.
She wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.
Not yet.
"Go ahead." She said, placing the cup on the counter and walking away.
Before leaving the kitchen, she picked up her cell phone and, with her heart racing, sent a single message to Miguel:
"Can I ask you a question out of the blue? Do you have time for lunch today?"
And while Eduardo, on the other side of the kitchen, went on with his life as if he owned the world…
Clara went upstairs already planning the next step.
Because she had just decided… that she would never swallow it silently again.
The way to the agency seemed longer that morning.
The car radio was playing some upbeat pop song, but Clara barely paid attention. Her mind was spinning in circles around the image that insisted on returning: Eduardo… Amanda… the bed… the mocking phrase.
She took several deep breaths during the journey, trying to keep control, trying not to let the tears fall.
But inside her, the mixture of hurt, anger and wounded pride throbbed like an open wound.
As soon as she arrived at the agency building, she parked the car and picked up her cell phone again.
Miguel had replied almost immediately:
"I always have time for you. Tell me where and when."
She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a small wave of relief.
At least… she wasn't completely alone in this.
The atmosphere at the agency was light, as always. People greeted her with smiles, jokes, as if she had been one of them for years. And that… somehow… helped.
Clara immersed herself in tasks early: campaign review, brainstorm for a new client, exchange of ideas with the creative team.
On the outside… she was focused.
On the inside… a whirlwind.
Around half past ten, while typing an e-mail, the cell phone vibrated again.
Miguel:
"Fancy the Japanese restaurant nearby? Half past twelve okay for you?"
She smiled slightly, even with her stomach still churning.
"Perfect. I'll meet you there."
At lunchtime, Clara left the agency walking, with sunglasses covering her eyes to hide the redness of someone who had cried… or almost cried… the whole way.
Arriving at the restaurant, Miguel was already waiting for her, sitting at a corner table, with two glasses of water on the table and a welcoming smile.
As soon as he saw her, he stood up.
"Hi…" He said, with that look of someone who understood more than words could say. "Are you okay?"
She took off her glasses slowly, showing her eyes still a little teary.
"Actually… no." She replied, sitting down opposite him.
Miguel didn't say anything immediately. He just reached his hand over the table, touching hers lightly.
"Do you want to start venting or… should we order first?"
She laughed, a nervous laugh, but genuine.
"Better order first… because I don't know if, after I start talking, I'll be able to stop."
They placed their orders and, as soon as the waiter walked away, Clara took a deep breath.
"Eduardo cheated on me." She blurted out in one go. "With a woman he swears is 'just a phase'. And now… that woman decided to send me a photo of the two of them… together… in bed. As if I were an idiot who needed proof."
Miguel stared at her for a second, in silence, as if calculating the words before speaking.
"Clara… I don't know if I'm more upset for you… or more pissed off at him. What kind of man does that?"
She shrugged, forcing a sad smile.
"The kind I married." She said, lowering her eyes.
Miguel squeezed her hand lightly.
"You don't deserve this. You never deserved it."
Clara's eyes started to water again, but this time she didn't try to hold back.
"I don't know what to do, Miguel. Part of me just wants to scream, throw everything in his face, make a scene… another part… just wants to disappear."
Miguel took a deep breath and then said, with all firmness:
"You're not going to disappear. You're going to stay exactly where you are. Standing. Strong. Going after your life. Showing him and anyone else that the Clara of now… is not the same as before."
She blinked a few times, trying to hold back the tears.
"What if I falter?"
"I'll hold your ground." He smiled slightly. "As I always have."
At that moment, with Miguel's gaze so direct and so full of truth, Clara felt something inside her calm down.
It still hurt…
But, now… it no longer seemed unbearable.
And for the first time since she woke up that morning… she managed to take a deep breath.
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