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mother got pregnant with their miracle baby, and my sister became their great love. At that moment, they regretted adopting me, removed me from my room – so my sister could have a better room of her own – and hid me in the maid's room. I barely saw them in the following years. They traveled on their days off with their biological daughter, and worked hard when they were in the city. When I turned eighteen, my father gave me an apartment and asked me to leave home. It was very painful, but I never blamed them. Never. Especially because Ana, my sister, was beautiful and intelligent.

And I was the opposite. Marcos also always said that I was not very intelligent or very pretty. So, when my boss started yelling at me, I believed he was right. In the first year, I only worked in the administrative area, and I held firm. In the second year, I began to understand better how everything worked, and I received many compliments and more responsibilities, with promises of promotions. In the third year, I began to get tired and began to be constantly humiliated at work. In the fourth year, I could no longer sleep at night without medication. It was during this period that I started having night terrors, and I had to take antidepressants to be able to get out of bed in the morning and lie down at night. In the fifth year, after a breakdown and a crying fit at work, I went back to the doctor who had been treating me for two years, and he took me off work once. Everything got worse because my boss wouldn't accept that I was sick, he said I was faking it, that no one needs seven days off like that, and when I came back, he demanded that I quit so that I wouldn't have to pay my benefits. I had another crisis, and I had to be taken off work again. That's when, when I came back, I ended up on the street. But I wasn't fired nicely, calmly. I was fired with shouting and insults, and I left the office bursting into tears. I called Marcos for help, but he said he didn't have time for my nonsense. I got to the sea. The waves crashed against the cliff, and I looked out at the ocean in front of me. A part of me wants to walk over to him, and just go... sink into him, disappear without a trace. I try to push the thoughts away. "I'm happy," I repeat. Tears stream down my face. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. ◆◆◆ An hour later, I feel recovered enough to get back into the vehicle. I had rented a room in a lovely inn near the beach. I planned to get there in a few minutes, take a shower and take a nap. Despite having driven a little over two hours to this small coastal town, I was exhausted. It feels like tons are on my shoulders. I get in the car, and start it. Nothing. I try again. This time there's a sound like a splutter, and then a small "boom" that startles me, especially since I can see a thin white smoke coming from the engine. "Don't... don't do this to me," I beg the Palio. It's doing it. And not for the first time. I've blown almost my entire labor agreement rebuilding the engine. I open the door, getting out of the car. I go to the hood, wondering whether or not I should open it and see what's going on. Something rings in my head, a memory from some news report, that you never open the hood of a car that might be on fire. Still, I'm foolish, and nervousness makes me pull the latch. Luckily, there's nothing burning, just smoke coming out. "No... no..." I mumble. I don't even have the money to take the car to Curitiba. The tow truck must cost a fortune. A hysterical laugh bursts from my throat, when I realize all the shit that's going on. What am I going to do? "Are you okay?" A smooth, velvety male voice echoes behind me. I turn my body quickly, and come face to face with a tall, handsome man in a white shirt and plaid shorts. It's strange that he's wearing shorts, when it's clearly cold. My eyebrows rise, as I notice his muscular, golden legs. - Hello? - he insists. - How are you? - he asks again, walking towards me. I'm alone in this deserted place, but I'm not afraid because something about him seems familiar. - My car... - I point. He comes closer. He's close to me, so close that I can smell his perfume. It's strong, very characteristic of a man like him, probably rich from the presence he gives off. - I'm not a mechanic, but I think his engine broke down. Wow, he's so handsome, up close. Something inside me knows I've seen him before, and I try to concentrate. He turns his face from the engine to me and smiles. - Television - he says. - What? - I ask, trying to concentrate. - You're wondering where you've seen me before. It was on the news. - Are you a reporter? - Yeah... I am... - he doesn't seem very proud of it. - I know a guy who works at a tow truck. If you want, I can ask him a favor. - I can't pay him - I admitted, this time noticing how his eyes are such a dark blue that I almost believed they were black. - I'm fucked... The word escaped my lips. Honestly, I didn't want to say it. Not only because it was disrespectful to the famous person, but because it took my focus away from the good words that attracted good things. Oh, my life was shit... I guess I'm not attracting anything good anyway. To my surprise, he laughed. - Okay. He owes me a favor. There was a tow truck mafia in Curitiba, and I reported it. - Seriously? Can you help me get the car there? - Sure. I wanted to hug this man, but all I did was extend my hand, introducing myself. - I'm Bia. - Levi - he accepted the greeting. - Levi Bellucci. I don't know why, but something clicked in me. My positive words brought me something good. A friend. I had so few. It was unparalleled luck. 1 Two years later. - You really didn't think I would tolerate this, did you? I stare at Marcos. He stands before me, his eyes wide and – to the same extent – ​​distant, as if he were just a ghost, not the man who once asked me to spend the rest of my life by his side. "What do you mean?" I murmured, because even though he had already told me the reason three times, I still had difficulty understanding. "When I got engaged to you, I was a high-class woman. I had a lucrative job, a promising career, my own apartment, my own car, youth, beauty... but now... Look at you... You're selling brigadeiros on the street." He lets out a bitter laugh, as if the fact that I was working in that job was extremely embarrassing. "But... I remember the suggestion coming from Levi. My friend who I met at the beach saw my struggle to get a new job with so many traumatic disorders resulting from the last one. Levi then advised me to work for myself, and gave me a series of alternatives. Among them, selling sweets on the streets. I was exactly good at cooking, and I liked the idea. Incredibly, I invested only one hundred reais on the first day, and I came home with more than four hundred. I had never earned so much in a single day of work, and

value. I have a stable job, I'm handsome, I'm thirty-five years old – and yes, men still have their value, no matter their age –, I bought a new car, and I need a woman who's up to my standards. I really didn't understand anything Marcos was talking about. I knew he had been having new ideas about women and relationships for a while, inspired by videos he had seen on the computer, but I worked all day and didn't have time to understand or pay attention to all that. I mentioned it to Levi in ​​one of the emails we exchanged daily, and he just told me to be careful.

I was going to ask "with what?" when Marcos arrived and told me it was all over. "I don't understand..." I admitted. "You... I thought you loved me." "I did, in the past." His tone was bitter. A part of me remembered when I first met him, a guy with no place to go. He was warm and inviting, he brought me chocolates and told me I was beautiful. After a month, he invited himself to live with me. He said he needed me, that he was unemployed, that he had nowhere to stay. He was nice and kind, and I felt so alone. Then I helped him. For months, I supported him. Almost a year later, I was the one who recommended him a job that was "up to his standards," as he always said, since he didn't work in just any job. After he started receiving his own salary, Marcos changed progressively. "I loved the woman you were. Now you... Oh, you embarrass me." "I'm sorry," I say, but I don't really know what I'm apologizing for. "I'm going to become the manager of the company," he says. "The owner already promised. I need a girl who dresses better, who's younger, prettier, with a good job, that kind of thing. You're not the woman for me anymore. Besides, you have problems." "Problems?" "You cry in your sleep. You call for your mom and dad. Oh, spare me, Beatriz. Grow up! You're old, already. It irritates me. I'm a busy, successful man. I can't deal with a woman's mental problems." I was so embarrassed about it. I lowered my face, basically agreeing with everything he was saying. I wish I wasn't like that, but I've been like that for as long as I can remember. - I need you to give me my ring back - he says, pointing to my hand, where a small, simple gold engagement ring adorns my fingers. A part of me wants to ask him not to go, but I take the ring off, suddenly feeling a strange relief. I'm confused and I don't know how to recognize these feelings, but I accept them. Then Marcos simply leaves. He's already packed, and I feel broken when he walks out the door. It's something powerful and strange. Relief and brokenness contrast with each other. ◆◆◆ - This is deliverance - Betânia says, as she takes one of the pieces of chocolate cake that I offer her. I immediately serve her a cup of coffee. My stand is full that morning, and the two employees I hired in the last few months each had personal problems, and neither of them could show up to work to help me on this very confusing day. I wanted to miss work too, but the bills don't pay themselves. Mr. Carlos ordered me a pastry, and I avoided the cakes and went for the savory ones. The bus terminal seemed strangely larger at this time, and everyone was hungry. If it kept going like this, it would have to close early due to lack of supplies. "I'm thinking about hiring a cook," I tell her. Even though I want to talk about Marcos and how he left me this morning, I simply don't have time to think about it. The business is growing and I can't handle it anymore. In addition to the employees, I need someone to manage so I can take some time for myself. Levi told me it was time for me to expand. "You know that journalist friend of yours from São Paulo?" She mentioned Levi, because I always talked about Levi. I was very proud to be friends with a famous person. "He's the one you should take a chance on. That man is worth any happiness or any sadness. Not that piece of shit you got engaged to." I almost laughed at the suggestion. For starters, Levi was simply gorgeous. The kind that all women want. I don't know why he became friends with someone like me, but ever since he helped me at the beach two years ago, we've always exchanged emails. We never saw each other in person again, but I had an absurd amount of affection for him, since it was with Levi that I could open up about everything. And he also talked a lot about himself to me. "Levi doesn't date," I said. "Levi is a guy..." "Of many women," I finished in my mind. Levi confessed to me that he didn't get attached. He had a huge difficulty in maintaining interest after a week. It was as if the looks of the models or actresses he dated weren't enough to awaken anything more than momentary desire in him. He certainly wasn't a bad guy, his friendship and advice were invaluable to me over the last two years, but Levi wasn't the kind of guy a girl could give her heart to either. Another customer orders a pastel. It's the last fried food I have, and I have to tell the next customer that it's gone. And, once again, the thought that my stand is growing and I'll need to expand it takes over me. "I'm feeling tired, you know?" I look at Betânia, who's biting into the cake. "I think I could take a few days off." Leaving one of the girls in charge... - And who's going to make your treats? - I can give them the recipe. Bethany shrugs. - I wish I had a day off. But even if the boss lets me, I have three kids at home. I'll never have a real day off. I laugh at her words, because I know that despite Bethany's complaints, she was in love with her three children. I've been to her house a few times this past year, and despite being a simple and poor person, her home overflows with love. Suddenly, my phone vibrates inside my apron pocket. I quickly take it out of my pocket, thinking it might be Marcos apologizing for turning my world upside down, but Levi's name appears on the screen. My eyebrow arches. He never calls me. We always talk via text, so it's surprising that Levi is calling me. Maybe it's because I'm depressed. I sent him a text telling him about my breakup on my lunch break, and he still hadn't replied. Levi probably wanted to give me some audible encouragement. - Hello? - I ask, as I serve. A customer points to a piece of cake, and I start serving it, my head tilted to the side, holding my cell phone with my face. - Bia? - he says, his voice sounds urgent. - Bia, can you close your stand for a few weeks? - he asks immediately, and I raise my eyebrows. - What? - Bia, I need you. You're the only friend I have and whom I can trust. I need you for a few weeks. I can pay. I see Betânia looking at me curiously, I probably made a face of astonishment, because even the cake customer seems curious about what's going on. - Bia! - Levi exclaims, and I realize he's worried and nervous. I've never seen him like this before

complete ten years at this station - I tell her, as I feel the anger grow and grow inside me. - I had the chance to go to a bigger station three years ago, and they convinced me to stay at the company, to transfer me to São Paulo, promising that I would be the anchor of the most successful program at the station. I just had to wait for Augusto Jonas to retire. He will do so in the next few weeks, and now I find out that they will give the program to a young newcomer? The entire station betrayed me and backstabbed me! - Levi...

- Tell me, Bruna? What other journalist with my talent and resume would accept doing interviews on the streets, after all this? I deserved to host a program... - Everyone knows, Levi - Bruna insisted. - But, there was a general meeting and... you don't have the profile. - I don't have the profile? - I was incredulous. - I'm talented, I'm the journalist who receives the most messages and gifts from fans at the reception, my segment is the one with the highest audience, I'm mature, experienced, prepared... - The program is called: Love Therapy - she interrupted me. - Yeah, I know - I replied. - The longest-running program on television, hosted for over thirty years by Augusto Jonas. A program that talks about love, marriage, relationships in general... I know all about that... - Levi, look at you... What moral do you have to talk about relationships with anyone? - Bruna said suddenly, and I was shocked that this was the reason for my exclusion. Okay, there was a hint of wisdom in all this. Frankly, I wasn't the best choice for this subject. I'm not a bad guy, but I don't know how to love. This probably came from home, from being raised by a promiscuous mother who would bring a different man every night and subject me to hearing her moan with them every time I went to sleep. She didn't believe in love, I don't know why, because my mother never talked about it much, but I started to not believe in it either, as I grew up and realized that feelings don't exist, only sex and lust. I lost my virginity at sixteen, to a pretty girl from school, who soon left me for a rich guy. After that, I dated a lot of girls, until I got to college. There, I met others like me, who didn't get tied down, I participated in all sorts of orgies and had fun with empty women, who also left me feeling even more empty. Everyone knew what I was like. When I started working at the São Paulo branch, my fame arrived before I did. Maybe because I was a good-looking guy, some women in the department, and even in the soap opera cast, tried to tie me down. Some were so beautiful that I even wanted them to succeed, but the excitement wore off, the novelty wore off, and what was left was my complete indifference, while I looked for another clean pussy to fuck. I'm thirty-seven years old, and I've never had a relationship that lasted more than two weeks. My oldest relationship was a completely platonic friendship with a woman I met on the beach two years ago, who wasn't as pretty as the women I dated, nor was she rich, nor interesting, nor anything. Bia was just Bia. With simple looks and kind words. We exchanged daily emails, because we both had no one else to vent to. She was going to marry a jerk who treated her like trash, while she desperately tried to survive in Curitiba. And I talked about my profession, and about my future plans to become a presenter. "So what? If I had a steady girlfriend, would it change everyone's perception of me hosting the show?" "Of course, Levi," Bruna nodded. - A survey was conducted suggesting your name to take Augusto's place, and you were rejected because of your fame. But... If you changed... maybe... Change... There was no way I could change. I didn't believe in love. I would never get married, nor would I have children. - I'm going to get a girlfriend... - Getting a girlfriend isn't that simple - Bruna pointed out. - You need to introduce yourself publicly with someone you truly have an affinity with. People need to believe that you are capable of loving and being loved. - That doesn't exist! - I exclaim, as I stand up and walk around her office. - It needs to be more than a one-week relationship - she continued to put obstacles in my way. - People aren't stupid. In the past, there were many fake relationships that really confused people, but with the advancement of social media, people are more attentive to details. - Where am I going to find this woman? It wasn't hard to find a woman willing to pretend to be my partner, but someone who could really convince people that we were in love and in complicity...? Someone who really knew me...? Someone I could spend my days with without getting stressed or fed up with the other person's presence...? Suddenly, my phone buzzes. I stare at the screen. Beatriz sent me an email. It wasn't her usual time to write, and I was worried that something had happened. Her trash fiancé was on the verge of violence. The guy really hated women, and it was only a matter of time before he started to not be just psychologically toxic. So, I clicked on the email, expecting her to be asking for my help with the police or justice, but to my surprise, in the first paragraph Beatriz already described how Marcos left her. A smile forms on my face at that very moment. "Bruna," I call my agent. "Don't let them make the new presenter official. I just realized that there is a woman in my life who can help me and make me a respectable guy." Bruna gave me a mocking look, but she was in for a surprise when she met my future girlfriend. If there was anyone in this world who never got tired of me and who could pretend to love me, that person was Beatriz. ◆◆◆ Congonhas is crowded. I bump into a guy before I can move forward through the aisles. I always knew she would agree to help me without even needing to insist. Bia owed me one for the way I helped her that day, on the beach. I still remember seeing her walking in the empty and deserted place. I had just been promoted to the biggest news program in the country, and I was saying goodbye to Paraná. Therefore, it was natural for me to walk along the beach of my youth, even though it was a cold and cloudy place. What I didn't expect was to have company. And not just any woman, but someone who simply hovered beautifully on the dirty sands of that autumn day. I liked her as soon as I saw her. Not that there was anything different or incredible, she was just natural and beautiful, with brown hair that fell over her shoulders, and pursed lips. She had been crying because of the way her black eyes were red, and she looked so tired, that I instantly wanted to approach her and offer help. But I didn't. I just watched her walking along the beach, her eyes mortified as she stared out at the sea. Part of me, that day, believed she was going to attempt suicide. Later, I knew it was a strong possibility. Bia had so many traumas and so much loneliness that she accepted a piece of shit like Marcos because she thought no one would ever truly like her. I was definitely rooting for her to find