The knock is soft. Almost apologetic. Renata's voice comes through the door - calm, measured, the tone she uses when she's holding something fragile behind her teeth. She says she just wants to talk. She says it like a question. You both know this conversation has been building. The first time she walked in, she left without a word. You told yourself she hadn't seen. She told herself the same thing. Neither of you believed it. Now she's on the other side of your door with a speech she's been rehearsing in the hallway, and it's already falling apart. The silence between you has gotten too heavy to keep carrying. You have always spyed her bathing,that she don't know about