Chapter 11: He Finally Let Me Go

Three months passed.

My new life had settled into a rhythm I barely recognized as my own.

Work was demanding, but I loved it.

I was finally doing the kind of work I had once convinced myself I didn't have time for.

My new apartment no longer felt temporary.

There were plants by the windows, books on the shelves, and photographs I had chosen simply because I liked them.

Nothing in that apartment belonged to Matteo.

And that felt strangely peaceful.

One Friday afternoon, my manager called me into her office.

“The client approved the proposal.”

I blinked.

“They want you to lead the next phase personally.”

A smile spread across my face.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She handed me a folder.

“And there's something else. They're opening a position in the company's New York office. It's a major promotion.”

I looked down at the papers.

A year ago, I would have immediately thought about Matteo.

Would the move inconvenience him?

Would it affect our plans?

Would he approve?

Now, the first thought in my mind was much simpler.

Do I want it?

The answer came easily.

Yes.

That evening, I accepted the promotion.

I was pouring myself a glass of sparkling water when someone knocked on my door.

I wasn't expecting anyone.

When I opened it, I froze.

Matteo stood in the hallway.

He looked thinner than I remembered.

His hair was messier, and the confidence he used to carry so effortlessly was gone.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“Your old coworker told me where you transferred.”

I stared at him.

“You shouldn't be here.”

“I know.”

He lowered his gaze.

“I just wanted five minutes.”

I should have closed the door.

Instead, I stepped aside.

Not because I wanted him back.

Because I wanted to hear what he had come all this way to say.

Matteo stood in my living room and looked around.

His eyes stopped on the quilt folded over the armchair.

The same quilt I had taken with me.

“You kept it.”

“Of course I did.”

He nodded slowly.

“I destroyed so much of your life.”

I didn't correct him.

He pulled a small envelope from his coat.

“I brought this back.”

I took it.

Inside was a photograph.

It was from our first World Cup final together.

We were both young, laughing in the stands, wearing matching scarves.

For a moment, I remembered how happy I had been.

Then I remembered everything that came afterward.

I placed the photograph on the table.

“Why are you here, Matteo?”

He looked at me.

“Because I finally understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That you weren't asking me to choose between you and Chiara.”

His voice broke slightly.

“You were asking me to make you feel like my partner.”

I said nothing.

“And I kept making you prove you loved me by accepting less.”

That was the closest he had ever come to admitting the truth.

But it came too late.

“I don't hate you,” I said.

His eyes lifted.

“That's not the same as wanting you back.”

He nodded.

This time, he didn't argue.

“I know.”

He turned toward the door.

Before leaving, he stopped.

“For what it's worth, I hope you get everything you wanted.”

I watched him walk away.

Then I closed the door.

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

An email from the company was waiting.

Promotion approved.

New York relocation package attached.

I smiled.

Matteo had finally let me go.

And I had already started moving forward.