Playing for Keeps: Finding Love Beyond the Lies - Chapter 58: Chapter 58

Despite Federico's explanation about the jewelry purchase and his phone dying, something still felt off. His story was plausible, and the bracelet was beautiful, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind.
I slept restlessly that night, Diego's taunting words echoing: "All men are the same."
The next morning, Federico suggested we explore Porto together—his way of making up for the previous night's worry. We spent a pleasant day wandering through the old town, and my doubts gradually faded with each genuine smile and thoughtful comment he made.
"I need to pick up something from the diving shop," he said in the afternoon. "It'll just take a minute. Want to come?"
I had planned to meet Charlotte for coffee nearby. "I'll meet you back at the apartment in a couple of hours," I suggested.
He kissed me goodbye with his usual enthusiasm, and I watched him walk toward the marina before heading to the café.
My coffee with Charlotte ran longer than expected. She had job news to share and wanted my opinion on an apartment she was considering. By the time we finished, it was nearly evening.
"I should get back," I said, checking my watch. "Federico's probably wondering where I am."
"Text him," Charlotte suggested. "See if he wants to join us for dinner. Marco and Sophia might come too."
I sent the message, but received no reply. Remembering his phone issues from the previous night, I wasn't immediately concerned.
"I'll just stop by the apartment first to see if he's there," I told Charlotte. "I'll let you know about dinner."
As I walked home, I decided to take a shortcut through a small plaza lined with restaurants. The evening was mild for December, and many places had their outdoor seating areas still open, heat lamps glowing amber against the darkening sky.
I was halfway across the plaza when I saw them.
Federico sat at a corner table, his back to me, across from the same woman from Diego's photos. Only this time, there was no mistaking the intimacy between them. His hand covered hers on the table, their heads close together as they talked in what appeared to be an intense conversation.
As I watched, frozen in place, she reached up to touch his face—a gesture so familiar it could only come from shared history.
I could have walked away. Part of me wanted to pretend I hadn't seen anything, to return to the apartment and wait for whatever story he would tell me about his evening.
Instead, I approached the table.
"Federico."
He jerked back as if burned, his head whipping around to find me standing there. The color drained from his face.
"Emma! I—this isn't—"
The woman looked between us, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding. "You must be Emma," she said in lightly accented English.
"And you are?" I asked, my voice remarkably steady.
Federico stood up, his hands extended in a placating gesture. "Emma, this is Valentina. She's—"
"I'm his ex-girlfriend," she finished for him. "We dated for four years in Sardinia before he moved to the mainland for work."
I nodded slowly. "I see."
"Emma, please," Federico began, "this isn't what it looks like—"
"It looks like you're having dinner with your ex-girlfriend," I said. "The same woman you were with yesterday when your phone supposedly died."
Valentina's eyes widened slightly. "You didn't tell her we met yesterday?"
The confirmation hit me like a physical blow. I had been right to doubt his story about the jewelry shop and the fishermen's restaurant.
"Val, please," Federico muttered. "Not helping."
"Were you even going to mention this to me?" I asked him. "Or was I supposed to believe you spent another evening with 'friends from the diving shop'?"
His silence was answer enough.
Throughout our entire relationship, Federico had never once mentioned this ex-girlfriend of four years. Not when he told me about his life in Sardinia, not when he described his past relationships, not when he insisted on complete honesty between us.
Some people might not care about this omission, but after my experience with Diego, trust wasn't optional—it was fundamental.
"I can't do this," I said quietly.
"Emma, please," Federico reached for my arm, but I stepped back. "It's not what you think. We were just talking."
"That's not the point," I replied. "The point is that you lied. Yesterday and today. And for months before that, by omission."
Valentina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I didn't realize he hadn't told you about me. I should go—"
"Stay," I said. "I'm the one who's leaving."
I turned to walk away, Federico's desperate explanations following me across the plaza. My phone buzzed with his calls and messages for the next hour as I walked aimlessly through the city, trying to process what had happened.
When I finally returned to the apartment, he was waiting outside the door.
"Please," he said, his eyes red-rimmed. "Just let me explain."
"There's nothing to explain," I replied, unlocking the door. "You lied about where you were and who you were with. Twice."
"I was afraid you wouldn't understand," he admitted, following me inside. "After everything you told me about Diego, I thought—"
"That I'm damaged?" I cut in. "That I can't handle the truth? That's not your decision to make."
"It wasn't serious," he insisted. "We ran into each other by chance. She's only in Porto for a few days."
I shook my head. "If it wasn't serious, why lie about it?"
The truth was simple: I wasn't as naive as everyone thought. I had simply chosen to trust Federico, to give him the benefit of the doubt, to believe what he told me.
"I think you should go," I said finally.
Federico's usual animation had drained away, leaving him looking smaller somehow. "Just like that? It's over?"
"Yes," I replied. "It's over."
As he gathered his things, I felt strangely calm. There was no dramatic breakdown, no desperate pleading on my part. Just the quiet certainty that I'd made the right decision.
When Diego called the next morning, undoubtedly expecting to find me heartbroken and vulnerable, I answered with perfect composure.
"You were right about Federico," I told him. "Thank you for the warning. We broke up."
His victorious smile was practically audible through the phone. "I knew he couldn't be trusted. All men are the same, Emma."
"You were right about that too," I agreed. "At least, the men in my life have been." I paused, letting the words sink in. "Goodbye, Diego."
I hung up and blocked his number for the final time.
Some might call me cold for ending things so decisively with Federico, and for shutting the door on Diego once and for all. But after years of making myself smaller to accommodate others' needs and deceptions, I finally understood my worth.
Being alone wasn't the punishment Diego had assumed it would be. It was freedom—to heal, to grow, and perhaps someday, to love again on my own terms.