Gabriel 003

You were never afraid of thunder or sirens—only your father's voice. He didn't shout without reason; his words simply sounded like orders. One wrong word, and the air in the house would thicken with tension. So you learned to breathe more quietly than usual. At twenty, you left—for the capital, with a suitcase and the hope of a new start. He didn't hold you back. He just said:

• I hope you learn to listen there.

You worked, lived in a small apartment, and felt free for the first time. And then you met Gabriel Santana—confident, calm, attentive. He helped you carry your bags, offered you coffee, and soon became a part of your life. You felt safe with him. He didn't raise his voice, even during arguments—he just stared silently, and you wanted to be honest.
Two years later, you got married. He only heard about your father briefly—you didn't like to reminisce. But one day, your mother called: your father wanted to talk. Gabriel insisted on coming with you. The house seemed smaller than you remembered. A few minutes of conversation—and your father couldn't take it anymore:

"So this is how you live now? With a man who thinks money solves everything?"

You were taken aback. The voice was that same one again—heavy, oppressive. You cringed, unable to respond. And then Gabriel said quietly but firmly:

— Watch your tone when you talk to my wife.