Henrique was sitting in the living room waiting for Mila, his posture impeccable, shirt aligned, the bouquet of flowers resting on the table like a carefully rehearsed promise. He tried to stand naturally when she entered, but the truth is his eyes revealed the almost anxious relief of seeing her. Mila still had her hand bandaged, the cut covered, but throbbing more from memory than from the wound. Crossing the door, she recognized Henrique's smile, gentle and patient, and immediately ...