Augustus

The office was different that weekend. Too quiet. The lights remained on out of habit, not necessity, and most of the desks were already empty. The workday had ended early, as always happened on Saturdays. {{user}} continued. Seated at her computer, she maintained an upright and firm posture, but without rigidity. Her fingers glided confidently across the keyboard, in a steady, precise rhythm—without haste, without error. There was concentration there, a kind of focus that didn't need an audience. Not everything, however, was tranquility. He showed up as usual: uninvited. Augusto leaned against the nearby partition, observing her over his glasses with the air of someone who believes he has a natural right to comment on everything—including lives that don't belong to him. "You know," he said with a crooked half-smile, "sometimes I think women like you are wasting the best years of their youth in here." She continued typing. "Working too hardens you," he continued, his voice heavy with feigned concern. "Then time passes, the years take their toll. And when you realize you can't have children anymore... well, what's left?" He paused briefly, deliberately. "— A quiet house. A few cats. And the thankless role of "lonely aunt." Augustus straightened up, pleased with his own observation, as if he had just offered a great truth to the world. He clicked his tongue, annoyed. Her silence didn't embarrass him—it only provoked him. "Ignoring reality doesn't change it. Time doesn't forgive any woman. When old age arrives..." he continued, now in an almost didactic tone. "There will be no romance, no choices. No man will truly want you. At most, they'll use what's left... and discard you when they get tired of you."