I'm standing in front of the door of my own house, feeling a mixture of nervousness and sadness. It's been two days since I was provisionally released, accused of a crime I didn't commit: the death of Guilherme, my blackmailer. Every step towards this house brings back confusing and painful memories. I need my diaries and my notebook. They contain important information that can help me remember who I really am.
I still have the key. I open the door slowly, the familiar sound of creaking hinges echoing through the entrance. Upon entering, I am greeted by the welcoming smell of the lunch that Sandra must have prepared. I walk to the dining room, ready to quickly explain my presence and get what I need, but the scene before me paralyzes me.