The first month was the hardest. The six-hour time difference meant their conversations were often rushed or exhausted. The initial excitement of Lívia's new life—her fascinating colleagues, the stunning architecture, the vibrant city culture—felt like a world away from Camila's routine of court appearances and client meetings.
Gradually, the daily calls became every other day. Then twice a week. The unspoken gap widened with each missed connection.
The breaking point came during a scheduled video call three weeks after Lívia's arrival. Camila had just wrapped up a particularly grueling day at the office and was looking forward to seeing Lívia's face. But when Lívia's image appeared on screen, she wasn't alone.
"Camila, hey!" she said, her voice bright with wine and laughter. "Meet me! This is Inês, she's one of the other residents. We're just out for a quick dinner."
Behind Lívia, a striking woman with dark, intelligent eyes waved and smiled. "Nice to finally meet the mysterious Camila."
Camila's carefully constructed composure faltered. "I didn't realize you had company."
"Oh, sorry," Lívia said, her enthusiasm dimming slightly. "It was spontaneous. We can talk tomorrow?"
The casual dismissal hit harder than it should have. "Sure," Camila managed, her voice tight. "Tomorrow."
She disconnected the call before Lívia could respond. The silence of her apartment was suddenly deafening.
Three days passed before they spoke again. By then, the damage was done.
"We can't keep doing this," Camila said the moment Lívia answered the phone. There was no preamble, no gentle lead-in.
"What are you talking about?" Lívia asked, her voice guarded.
"This pretense that we can just... pause our lives and pick up again six months later like nothing has changed."
"Things haven't changed between us," Lívia insisted. "Not really."
"Haven't they?" Camila's voice rose slightly. "You're building a new life there. Making new friends. Starting a career. I'm here, in the same city, doing the same things, waiting for time to pass."
"That's so not fucking fair, C!" Lívia shot back fiercely. "You knew! You knew this was temporary when I left."
"Did I really?" Camila challenged. "Or did I just agree to it because I was terrified of being the person who asked you not to go?"
The silence that followed was heavy with truth.
"Maybe we need space," Camila finally said, the words tasting like ash. "Real space. Not this... limbo."
Lívia's breath hitched audibly. "You mean break up."
"I mean take a break," Camila corrected, though she knew it was a distinction without a difference. "Give ourselves permission to live fully in our separate worlds without the pressure of this... connection."
"You're scared," Lívia accused, her voice trembling. "You're letting fear win."
"Maybe," Camila admitted, her own voice cracking. "But maybe I'm also being realistic. Maybe I'm saving us both from a more painful ending down the road."
The finality in her tone settled the matter.
"Your right," Lívia whispered, the single word heavy with defeat. "I'm done."
The call ended. And just like that, the connection they'd fought so hard to protect was severed.