The morning sun touched Lisbon like gold spilled across the rooftops. Amara stood by the wide windows of Studio Marah, coffee in hand, watching the quiet street below come to life.

Children walked to school. Vendors set up their stands. The river shimmered in the distance, endless and calm.

It was peaceful — beautifully, perfectly peaceful. And yet, a small part of her couldn’t help wondering how it had taken her this long to feel something so simple.

Three years ago, she had measured her worth in love and attention. Now, she measured it in peace.

Beatriz entered the studio carrying a bundle of papers. “Good morning, querida. The press...