I ended up parking in a neighborhood I didn't recognize. It wasn't an upscale area of Valmont, that was for sure. Dilapidated buildings, closed businesses, dirty streets. The kind of place people in my social class pretended didn't exist.
But now? Now I had no social class. I had nothing.
I glanced at the dashboard clock. 3:47 PM. The wedding was happening now. At this very moment, Sofia was walking down the aisle. Rafael was at the altar. The priest was asking if anyone objected.
And no one would. Of course not.
Because Sofia was "dying." And who objects to a dying person's last wish?
My phone vibrated. An Instagram notification. Someone had tagged me in a photo.
Against my better judgment, I opened it.
It was a photo from the ceremony. Sofia radiant in a white dress—my dress, I realized with sick horror, the one I should have been wearing. Rafael beside her, smiling. Really smiling. The caption: "Love wins! #SofiaAndRafael #WeddingOfTheYear #EternalLove"
Comments flooding in: "So beautiful! 😍" "Perfect couple!" "Sofia deserves all the happiness! So brave!"
And there, buried among the compliments: "And Elena? Does anyone know what happened to her?" "I heard she had a nervous breakdown. She couldn't deal with her sister's illness." "Selfish people always show their true colors in the end."
So that was it. Monica had spread the word that I was trouble. That I was unstable. Selfish. Dramatic.
And everyone believed it.
I closed the app. Deleted it. Fuck it. Fuck them all.
My stomach growled. When was the last time I ate? Yesterday? I couldn't remember.
I looked at my wallet. Three hundred and twenty reais. I would check my bank account, but I was afraid of what I would find. Rafael always took care of the finances "because he was better at it." He probably had access to everything.
More control. More isolation. How did I miss the signs?
I needed a plan. I needed a place to stay. I needed a job.
Work.
Shit. My job.
I worked as an administrative assistant at an accounting firm. Mediocre pay, a bastard of a boss, but it paid the bills. And it was the middle of the month-end closing. I should have been there.
I called the office. My supervisor, Carla, answered.
"Elena? Where the hell are you? Rodrigo is furious! You had three reports due today!"
"Carla, I know, I'm sorry, but something came up. Something serious. I need a few days..."
"Days?" She laughed humorlessly. "Elena, you can't just not show up in the middle of the closing! That's irresponsible!"
"I know, but please, it's a family emergency..."
"Emergency." Her voice went cold. "Elena, Rodrigo spoke with Augusto Moreira this morning. In a meeting." They're investment partners, you know?"
My blood ran cold.
"Carla..."
"And Augusto mentioned that you're having... emotional difficulties. That you're unstable. That you might not be trustworthy right now."
"Did he SAY that?"
"Yes. And Rodrigo... well, Rodrigo agrees." She sighed. "Elena, you're fired. Officially." Human Resources will email you the paperwork."
"You can't do that! I need this job! I—"
"You should have thought of that before you skipped work without notice during our most critical period." Carla didn't sound the least bit remorseful. "Good luck, Elena. You'll need it."
She hung up.
I stood there, phone in hand, processing.
Fired. My father had made me fire him.
He didn't just take away my family, my inheritance, my home. He took away my job too. My only source of income.
He cut me off completely.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. I laughed hysterically, maniacally, because the alternative was to scream.
Three hundred and twenty reais. It was all I had in the world.
No. Wait. I had the car. The car was worth something.
And I had... what else? Clothes? Some jewelry Mom left? Nothing of real value. Nothing that would keep a roof over my head for more than a week or two.
I was screwed. Completely, utterly, undeniably screwed.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
" Hello?
"Elena Moreira?" Male voice, professional.
"Yes?"
"This is Marcelo Santos, from Costa Real Estate. I'm calling about your apartment at 342 Rua das Acácias."
The apartment she shared with Rafael. Shit.
— Yes?
— Mr. Rafael Almeida contacted us today requesting termination of the lease agreement. He said that you no longer reside there. Is that true?
— I... — My mind spun. Technically, I no longer lived there. Not after yesterday. But my things were still there. My life was still there.
— I need you to remove your belongings by Monday. After that, we will consider it abandoned and dispose of them.
— Monday? That's only two days!
— That's what the contract stipulates. Three days after notification of termination. You were notified now. Monday at noon is the deadline.
— But I... I have nowhere to take my things! I don't have...
— I'm sorry, miss. But that's not my problem. Monday at noon. "Good afternoon."
He hung up.
So Rafael was kicking me out of the apartment too. Of course. Of course he was.
Taking everything away. Leaving me with nothing. That's what everyone wanted.
And they were succeeding.
I looked around. This shitty neighborhood, with its crumbling buildings, its dirty streets. That's what I had left. That's what I deserved, apparently.
Twenty-six years. Twenty-six years trying to be good enough. Loving enough. Worthy enough.
And in the end? It didn't matter at all.
People I promised to love discarded me like trash.
And now I was here. Alone. No money. No family. No home. No job. No future.
Nothing.
My vision blurred. Not from tears—crying too much is exhausting. It blurred from sheer exhaustion.
When was the last time I slept properly? Days? Weeks?
I could sleep in the car, I supposed. Many people did. Homeless people in their cars, parking wherever they could, trying to survive.
That was it. What was I now? Homeless?
My phone vibrated again. Message from a blocked number. I managed to trace it and it was Rafael:
"Elena, please reply. I just got married. I'm doing this for her, but I think about you. I always think about you. When this is over, when she's gone, we'll be together again. I promise. I love you. I will always love you."
He had just gotten married.
He was probably at his wedding reception, toasting with Sofia, smiling for photos, making speeches about eternal love.
And he was texting me. Saying he loved me.
The audacity. The sheer, unbelievable audacity.
I typed a reply:
"You married her. You made vows. In sickness and in health. Until death do you part. Those vows mean something. And even if they don't mean anything to you, they mean something to me. So no. Never again. Find happiness with Sofia. Or not. I don't care anymore. But leave me alone." Please."
I sent it. I blocked the number again.
My phone had 15% battery. One more thing to worry about. Where would I charge it? I couldn't go back to Claudia. Not yet. Not without a plan, without minimal dignity.
I needed to think. I needed a strategy.
But I was so tired. So fucking tired.
I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes just for a moment.
Just a moment. To rest. To breathe. To figure out the next step.
Just a moment...
________________________________________
I woke up to a knock on the window.
I jumped, disoriented. It was dark. Completely dark. How long had I slept?
I looked at the clock. 11:12 PM.
Shit. I had slept for more than seven hours.
The knocking again. More insistent.
I turned and came face to face with a police officer shining a flashlight on my window.
— Ma'am, open the window, please.
I obeyed with trembling fingers.
— Good evening, officer. Any Problem?
— Identification, please.
I handed over my driver's license with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.
He examined it with a flashlight.
"Elena Moreira. This neighborhood isn't safe for parking at night, miss. Especially for women alone."
"I... I was just resting..."
"Living in the car?" He glanced at the suitcases in the backseat, clothes visible.
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. It was obvious.
He sighed, and for a moment, I saw something like pity in his eyes.
"Look, I'm not going to give you a ticket. But you can't stay here. There are shelters..."
"I don't need shelter." The words came out sharper than I intended. "Just... just in transition. Temporarily."
"Right." He clearly didn't believe me. "Well, temporary or not, you need to get out of here. There have been three robberies on this street in the last two weeks." It's not safe."
"Where am I going?"
"I don't know, miss. But not here." He handed me back my ID. "I'll give you thirty minutes. Then I'll be back, and if you're still here, I'll have to take you to the police station. For your own safety."
"I understand. Thank you, officer."
He walked away, the radio crackling with codes I didn't understand.
I started the car. A quarter of a tank. One more thing to worry about. Gas cost money. Money I didn't have.
I drove aimlessly. Valmont's streets at night were different. Darker. More dangerous. Or maybe I was just more vulnerable.
I passed crowded bars, lit restaurants, people laughing and living as if the world weren't falling apart.
But it was. My world was.
I found parking near a busier area. 24-hour. Well-lit. Security cameras visible.
I parked, locked the doors, and sat there.
Now what?
Rational thought. I needed to think rationally.
Options:
Return to Claudia. Beg for hospitality. Accept charity. Find a new job. Quickly. Any job. Sell the car. Use the money for... what? Rent a room? For how long? Go to a shelter. Accept that I had fallen so low. Give up.
The last option lingered in my mind longer than it should have.
Give up. Simply... give up. On everything. On the struggle. On the pain. On the constant, failed attempt to be good enough.
It would be so easy. So... peaceful.
My phone rang, pulling me from my dark thoughts.
Claudia. Of course.
"Hello?"
"ELENA! Where the hell are you? I've been calling for hours! You said you were going to the mansion and back! It's almost midnight!"
"Sorry. I... got distracted."
"Distracted?" Her voice was shrill with concern. "Elena, are you okay? Where are you?"
"Parking lot. Downtown. I'm fine."
"Come home. Now. You can't stay on the street!"
"Clau... I can't keep abusing your hospitality. You've done too much already..."
"Abusing? Elena, you're practically my daughter! Your mother made me promise to take care of you, and that's exactly what I'm going to do!"
Tears burned. Damn, treacherous tears.
"They fired me." The words came out in a whisper. "Dad... he talked to my boss. They made me quit. And Rafael canceled the apartment lease. And I... I have nothing, Clau. Nothing."
Silence. Then, a firm voice:
"Address. Now. I'll pick you up."
"No..."
"ADDRESS. ELENA. NOW."
I gave the address.
Twenty minutes later, Claudia's Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. She got out, walked to my car, and simply opened the driver's door.
"Get out," she ordered.
"Clau..."
"GET OUT OF THE CAR."
I obeyed, legs shaking after hours of sitting.
She pulled me into a tight hug, so tight I couldn't breathe properly.
"You're not alone," she whispered fiercely in my ear. "Did you hear? You're NOT alone. I'm here. I always will be."
And it was enough. Those words, that hug, that promise.
It was enough to make me completely fall apart.
I cried in her arms in the middle of that parking lot, people passing by and staring, but I didn't care.
I let it all out. All the pain, all the betrayal, all the humiliation, all the despair.
And Claudia held on. Like Mom would have held on. Like someone who truly cared would.
"Let's go home," she said finally. "Your car is here. We'll send for it tomorrow. Today, you come with me. Come home."
"For how long?" — My voice was hoarse. — Clau, I have no money, no job, I have no...
"As long as it takes." She cut me off. "Elena, stop. Just stop trying to be strong and independent for five minutes and accept help. Please."
I nodded, too exhausted to argue.
In her car, the heater on, soft music playing, I felt something close to safety for the first time in days.
"The wedding happened," I said suddenly. "Sofia and Rafael. They got married today."
"I know. I saw it on social media." Claudia kept her eyes on the road. "And I know it hurts. But Elena?"
"Yes?"
"One day, you'll look back and be thankful he cheated on you. Because he freed you. Freed you to find something better. Someone better."
"It doesn't feel that way now."
"It never does. Right now." She glanced at me briefly. "But it will. Trust me."
I wanted to believe. God, I wanted to.
But all I could think was: what if there was nothing better? What if this—betrayal, abandonment, loneliness—was all I deserved?
What if I was destined to always be a second option? Always replaceable? Always disposable?
"Your phone is ringing," Claudia observed.
I looked. Unknown number. Again.
I answered, too exhausted to care.
"Hello?"
"Elena?" A female voice. Young. Familiar.
"Who is it?"
"It's me. Camila. Camila Santos. Remember? From high school?"
Camila. My best friend until Rafael made me distance myself from her.
"Camila. Hi." I didn't know what else to say.
"Elena, I... saw the news. On social media. About you and Rafael. And Sofia. And..." She hesitated. "I wanted to know if you're okay. I know we haven't spoken in years, and maybe I don't have the right to call, but I... worry." I still worry."
Tears again. When would they stop?
"I'm... surviving."
"Do you need something? Is there anything I can do?" She sounded genuinely concerned.
"Honestly? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."
"Okay. Then... I'll keep calling. Every day. Until you know." Pause. "Elena? You were always too strong to let them destroy you. Remember that."
She hung up before I could answer.
I looked at the phone, confused.
"Who was that?" Claudia asked.
"Old friend. I think." I put the phone away. "Funny. All these people climbing out of holes now that I'm at rock bottom."
"Maybe it's a sign," Claudia said softly. "That there are more people who care than you realize." That you're not as alone as you think.
Maybe. Or maybe it was just pity.
But in that moment, driving through the bright streets of Valmont, pity was better than nothing.
Because nothing was what I had when I woke up today.
And anything more than nothing was progress.
Small. Painful. But progress nonetheless.
And as we approached Claudia's house, as exhaustion finally overcame me, one last thought crossed my mind:
They took everything from me. But they didn't take my life.
And as long as I still had life, I had a chance.
A chance to rebuild. To get revenge. To prove that it was their mistake, not mine.
Small chance. Distant chance.
But a chance nonetheless.
And in that moment, at the absolute bottom of the pit, that chance was all that kept me from giving up completely.
________________________________________