Our Blank Canvas

At twenty-seven years old, Sara made many mistakes, most of them for love. She crawled and dug so deep for love that it became impossible to see an exit, a way to undo the impulsive and wicked deeds she had committed. Did she regret them? Normally, the answer would be a cheerful and confident "No," but on that day, the "Yes" tore her heart apart, much like Rodrigo Montenegro, her beloved and idolized husband, had just done.

Clutching her black purse close to her slender body covered by a red dress, she stepped out of the elevator with brisk strides, the thin heels echoing through her husband's company parking lot. Near her Red Corvette, parked in a privileged spot close to the elevators, she pressed the button to unlock the vehicle and disarm the alarm. They were among the few perks gained from marrying the insensitive Montenegro, something she would exchange without a second thought for a place in his heart.

She got into the car, slamming the door with excessive force, and after tossing her purse onto the seat beside her, fastened her seatbelt and slumped against the seat. She took a deep breath and rubbed her fingers against her eyes, trying to calm herself and dry the tears that wouldn't stop flowing. It was in vain, the only result was smudging her always perfect makeup, staining her face and hands.

She couldn't bear her empty life anymore, her frigid marriage, loving without being loved in return. She didn't want to live like this anymore.

Giving up on controlling the tears and needing to escape from what caused her suffering—the beloved man—she started the car. She sped out onto the rain-soaked streets, rain that had been falling since morning. With her vision blurred by crying, she saw the road as a smeared canvas, the lights and cars all hazy.

"Creep... How could you...?" she mumbled, fiercely pounding her right hand on the steering wheel, feeling her throat sore and her heart shattered.

She felt lost, her emotions out of control. Above all, she felt betrayed and abandoned.

Her phone rang from inside her purse. She knew who it was, and she wouldn't answer under any circumstances.

"Bastard... Who does he think he is...?"

She didn't deserve such disrespect, especially not from the person who made her give up her dreams, to whom she had dedicated every second of her life since meeting him. Rodrigo, the love of her life, had taken possession of her heart, manipulated it, and now—when he was all she had in the world—he had taken him out of her chest and trampled him mercilessly.

The cell phone's ring persisted, infuriating her. The bastard knew how to be persistent when he wanted to be.

Nervously, she gripped the steering wheel with her left hand and used her right hand to open her purse, rummaging through its contents in search of the device. She grabbed the rectangular object and looked at the screen, searching for the name confirming the caller. Tears blurred her vision, leaving her with no choice but to answer. Upon doing so, she immediately recognized the deep voice.