As I left my in-laws’ house empty-handed, my father-in-law asked me to carry a trash bag. When I opened the gate, I felt a lump in my throat and my hands began to tremble at what I saw…

My husband and I divorced after five years of marriage.

No children.
No property in my name.
Not a single word trying to make me stay.

The house I once called family was on a quiet street in Curitiba, the city I moved to after leaving my homeland, Salvador, shortly after getting married.

The day I crossed that black iron gate, the Brazilian sun shone brightly in the sky. The light fell upon the reddish-tiled courtyard, warming everything around it.

But inside… I was frozen.