Maria Gabriela
I’d finally made it to my last week at work.
I wanted to say I felt calmer—but that wouldn’t be true.
What exactly would come after leaving Amacel? It was a question that hovered in my mind constantly, especially during the quiet moments I spent alone.
There was a strange peace in knowing this chapter was about to end, but also a dull ache of uncertainty about what might come next.
It wasn’t just the fear of finding a new job—or of what my life would look like without the daily chaos of dealing with Diego Bittencourt. It was the unsettling sense that, somehow, he would still hold power over my life, even once I was gone.
I sighed, staring at my computer screen.
What was really waiting for me out there? Starting my own business? That dream had always lingered quietly in the background—a desire that never truly faded—but the financial risk still terrified me.
And now, being pregnant, the weight of responsibility pressed even harder on my shoulders. My thoughts drifted to the future—how it would be to raise a baby on my own, whether I’d really be able to handle it all.
Diego had this uncanny ability to cast a shadow over me. He manipulated, controlled, invaded every corner of my work life—and, in a way, my peace of mind. Even knowing there were only a few days left before I’d never have to deal with his demands again, a quiet fear still crept into my mind.
Lost in those thoughts, I was abruptly pulled back to reality by the sound of my phone ringing.
Diego’s firm, commanding voice on the other end summoned me to his office.
Of course. He couldn’t resist the urge to control me down to the very last minute.
I walked slowly down the hallway toward his office, a knot tightening in my stomach. When I stepped inside, he was sitting in his chair, watching me with an expression that, for a fleeting second, felt… different.
Almost like he wanted to talk, but couldn’t find the right words.
I drew in a steady breath, bracing for one of his usual clipped orders or complaints.
But this time, he stayed silent longer than I expected, his eyes fixed on me like he was lost in thought.
“You’re still going to the workshop on Sunday?” The question sounded less like a question and more like an order disguised as small talk. I almost laughed inwardly. Of course he’d make sure I was working until the very last second. “I’m counting on you being there.”
He never missed an opportunity to assert control. Even now, on the verge of finally getting rid of me, he was still demanding.
His tone was measured, almost testing. Something inside me knew this conversation wasn’t really about the workshop.
It was his final attempt to keep me under his control—to remind me that even outside these walls, I’d never be completely free of him. It was his way of reaffirming authority, of showing me he still had the upper hand.
I kept my face composed, refusing to let the waves of tension show. I mirrored his indifference, calm and cold.
“Of course. It’s my last day, and I’m getting paid for it,” I said evenly, though a small spark of frustration flared inside me.
“You seem different,” he observed suddenly, his voice softer now.
The tension in his features eased, and for the first time in weeks, he almost looked like he wanted a real conversation.
I forced myself to focus on the papers on his desk, pretending to skim through a report so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. That tone—almost normal, almost kind—threw me off balance.
But no. He couldn’t just erase months of chaos with one casual remark.
“I don’t see how I could be the same, Diego,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Not after everything.”
“So… you’re still going?” he asked again, and this time, it sounded more like a request than a command.
“I am.” My answer came short, almost automatic.
Inside, I was exhausted by this endless push and pull between us—this constant game of power he refused to stop playing.
His eyes narrowed, searching for something—a flicker of hesitation, defiance, anything.
He always played to win.
But I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter. I stayed composed, waiting for whatever came next.
To my surprise, he simply nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a few seconds before he leaned back in his chair—a silent signal that the conversation was over.
I walked back to my desk, emotions swirling inside me.
Part of me was relieved that the encounter had been brief. The other part… still uneasy.
My boss wasn’t the kind of man who let go easily. And I knew that until the very last minute of that Sunday workshop, he’d make sure to remind me that, one way or another, he still had some measure of control over me.
I pushed those thoughts away as I sat down again.
This chapter was almost over, and I needed to end it with dignity.
Because, in the end, a woman’s strength isn’t about avoiding the fight—it’s about facing it head-on, with courage.