I saw him before he saw me, which is the only advantage a crowded room ever gave me.

I am Renata. I am thirty-five. The wedding was in a garden in Morumbi that had been bullied into looking effortless, lanterns, a cousin of mine marrying a man I liked. Heitor was on the other side of the lawn with a glass he wasn't drinking. Thirty-six. The same shoulders. A beard that was new and, annoyingly,…