Playing for Keeps: Finding Love Beyond the Lies - Chapter 57: Chapter 57

Sitting at home, I hesitantly texted Federico to ask what he was doing.
His reply came quickly: "Having dinner with friends from the diving shop. They're showing me around."
In the end, I couldn't bring myself to ask the follow-up question burning in my mind: "When will you be home?"
As if sensing my unasked question, he sent another message: "Should be back around 10 PM. Don't wait up if you're tired. Ti amo ♥"
So I would wait until 10 PM.
Time crawled by, each minute stretching painfully as I sat on the sofa anxiously waiting. I tried to distract myself with a book, then a TV show, then mindlessly scrolling through social media—nothing worked. The photos Diego had sent kept flashing through my mind: Federico's animated face, the woman's hand on his arm, their heads close together in conversation.
I checked my phone for the dozenth time. 10:37 PM.
No messages. No calls.
By eleven, Federico still hadn't returned, nor had he sent a single message explaining his delay. I'd sent two casual texts—"How's dinner going?" and "Everything okay?"—both delivered but unanswered.
The rational part of my brain offered perfectly reasonable explanations: his phone battery died, the restaurant was noisy, he lost track of time. But Diego's insinuations had taken root, fertilized by my own insecurities.
Was this how Federico had felt when I was occasionally late meeting him in Sardinia? This gnawing uncertainty, the mind racing to worst-case scenarios?
My phone rang, displaying an unknown number. I knew who it was before I answered.
"Well? Didn't I tell you all men are the same?" Diego's voice carried a smug satisfaction that made my skin crawl. In the background, I could hear the sterile sounds of a hospital room—a television murmuring, the distant beep of monitoring equipment.
"You've been watching him?" I asked, anger rising. "Following my boyfriend around Porto?"
"I have friends who owe me favors," he replied dismissively. "So where is your Italian dreamboat now? It's past eleven."
I suddenly understood with perfect clarity what was happening. The desperate calls from his mother, the mysterious relapse, the photos of Federico—Diego was burning everything down around him because he couldn't stand that I had moved on while he was moving backward.
"Even if Federico is betraying me, so what?" I replied calmly, surprising myself with how much I meant it.
"If he betrays me, I'll leave him and eventually love someone else."
"You'd run away again?" Diego scoffed. "That seems to be your pattern."
"It's not running away to refuse to be where you're not valued," I countered. "Not everyone treats love like a possession they can discard and reclaim whenever they want."
There was a long pause before Diego spoke again, his voice suddenly stripped of its venom. "When did you become this person?"
"I've always been this person," I said quietly. "You just never bothered to see it."
It really was that simple. The Diego I'd cared for, the man I'd believed in, had never actually existed. I'd created him from fragments of potential and possibility, from glimpses of the person he might become if he healed. But that person had never materialized.
I've never let heartbreak rob me of the courage to try again. My entire history with Diego proved that—even after he'd hurt me repeatedly, I'd continued to believe in his capacity for growth.
When Sophia had told me Diego wasn't good enough for me, my instinctive reaction had been disbelief. How could someone I thought was kind-hearted and possessed countless positive qualities possibly not be good enough for me?
Now, looking back objectively at those two years I spent caring for him, I saw the truth. His terrible temper, his self-destructive tendencies, his refusal to try despite having access to the most advanced medical treatments.
And now he was trying to drag me down into his bitterness, determined that if he couldn't have me, no one should.
He truly wasn't good enough for me. Perhaps he never had been.
"You'll come back," Diego said, confidence returning to his voice. "When he disappoints you—and he will—you'll remember who was always there."
I nearly laughed at the absurdity. "You were never 'there' for me, Diego. I was there for you. There's a difference."
I ended the call and blocked this new number too.
I waited at home until 1 AM.
Federico still hadn't returned. No messages, no calls. Midnight had come and gone, and with it, the last of my patience.
But why was I waiting?
Why trust Diego's poisonous words instead of asking Federico directly?
Why let Diego interfere in our relationship?
I put on my coat and grabbed my phone, determined to find answers rather than sit alone with spiraling thoughts. If Federico was at that waterfront café with someone else, I'd confront them both. If he was drunk in some bar, I'd drag him home. Whatever the truth was, I needed to see it with my own eyes.
The relationship between me and Federico was ours alone—Diego had no place in it.
I put on my coat and opened the door.
As I reached the ground floor, I ran directly into Federico coming into the building.
His cheeks were flushed from the cold night air, and he was carrying a small paper bag tucked under his arm. He seemed surprised to see me. "Emma? Where are you going so late?"
I studied him carefully, searching his face for signs of guilt or deception. His expression was open, though tinged with concern as he registered my serious expression.
"I was worried," I admitted. "You said you'd be home by ten. It's past one in the morning."
He winced, running a hand through his hair. "Dio mio, I'm so sorry, tesoro. We lost track of time, and then my phone died completely."
He pulled out his phone to show me the black screen. "I feel terrible. Were you going out looking for me?"
I wasn't sure what to believe. Diego's photos showed Federico with a woman, but here he was talking about a group outing. I thought of how easily Diego had manipulated situations in the past, twisting reality to serve his purposes.
"Who were you with?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral as we walked back upstairs.
"The diving instructor from the shop near the marina—Matteo—and his family," he explained, unlocking the apartment door. "His mother owns this tiny restaurant where all the local fishermen eat. No tourists, just locals. The seafood was incredible, but they don't take reservations, so we had to wait almost two hours for a table."
As we entered the apartment, I noticed the paper bag he was carrying.
He caught my glance and smiled, suddenly looking boyish and nervous. "I wanted to wait until Christmas, but since you're already suspicious..."
From the bag, he pulled out a small blue box and handed it to me. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with tiny seashell and starfish charms.
"I found this little jewelry shop today. The woman who makes these—Lucia—only sells them through her family's store," he explained. "That's why I was even later. After dinner, I wanted to go back and get this for you before the shop closed."
I turned the bracelet over in my hands, feeling a mixture of relief and shame for doubting him.
"You were with an older woman at a café today," I said quietly. "Someone took photos of you together."
Rather than becoming defensive, Federico's eyebrows shot up in surprise, then he laughed. "That would be Lucia! She's the jeweler—she must be at least sixty. We met for coffee so she could show me some of her designs." He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a business card with a woman's photo on it. "She's been married for forty years. Her grandson Matteo is the one who introduced me to the diving group."
I felt foolish for letting Diego plant seeds of doubt so easily.
"Diego has been sending me photos of you," I explained, showing him my phone. "He's been trying to convince me you're cheating."
Federico's expression darkened momentarily. "That's... disturbing. Why would he do that?"
"Because as long as you're in my life, I'll never go back to his," I said simply.
Understanding dawned on his face. "He doesn't actually want you back—he just can't stand that you've moved forward without him."
Federico pulled me into an embrace. "The past is the past, Emma. Some people get stuck there, but we don't have to join them."
As I rested my head against his chest, I realized I had almost allowed Diego to poison something genuine with his bitterness. What Diego couldn't understand—what he had never understood—was that love wasn't about possession or control. It was about choice. Every day, a renewed decision to be present with another person.
For two years, I had chosen Diego every day, even when he made it nearly impossible. Now I was choosing Federico—not because I needed him or because he needed me, but because together, we created something worth choosing.
I deleted Diego's number from my phone, along with his mother's. Whatever happened to him now wasn't my responsibility or my concern.
My life was here, moving forward. And if someday Federico and I didn't work out, that would be okay too. I would never again let fear of loss prevent me from embracing what was right in front of me.
"I'm sorry for doubting you," I said quietly.
Federico kissed my forehead. "Don't be. I should have called when my phone had enough charge to make one call."
He fastened the bracelet around my wrist, the silver warm against my skin. "But maybe this is good. Now we both know—no secrets, no games. Just us, figuring things out together."
I nodded, thinking of all the silent suffering and misunderstandings that had characterized my relationship with Diego. How refreshing it was to simply speak openly, to address concerns directly rather than letting them fester.
"Just us," I agreed. "No ghosts allowed."