The days went by, and the atmosphere at home grew increasingly hostile.My mother was always busy, distracted by her own concerns, barely noticing what was happening around her. I, on the other hand, had college responsibilities—final exams, practical internships coming up, the end of the semester—but none of it seemed enough to keep me away from Marcelo's visits.Sometimes, I could hardly believe how he managed to be present without being invited, showing up in every corner of the house, always with that gaze he couldn’t hide. He seemed to be everywhere, always too close, as if he wanted to occupy every space. Every move I made was followed by him, and I no longer knew how to react.It became routine for me to be in my room, trying to study or rest, when I would hear the door creak open. He never knocked. He just walked in, and the mere sound of his footsteps seemed to fill the room with a tension I couldn’t break.At first, I tried to be polite, pretended I didn’t mind. But over tim
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