Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time novel Chapter 11

The next morning, Charlotte called me with a splitting headache, piecing together fragments of the previous night through my patient explanations.

"Wait—so Diego's girlfriend actually said that to your face? That she could've done what you did?" Her voice rose with each word, hangover apparently forgotten. "What was she trying to do—rub her relationship in your face while simultaneously dismissing your two years of sacrifice?"

I tucked the phone against my shoulder as I made myself coffee, glancing at my banking app where I'd been reviewing my finances. Those zeros from Mrs. Ferreira's "payment" still looked surreal.

"Let her think whatever she wants," I replied with surprising calm. "It doesn't affect me."

It was true. In that moment, staring at my financial security—the freedom to rebuild my life exactly as I wanted—I realized money couldn't heal a broken heart, but it certainly provided the luxury of time and space to recover properly.

"You're being too nice about this," Charlotte insisted. "You spent two years of your life on that man, and now he's parading around with Porto's fashion princess while treating her like an inconvenience. Did you see how he barely listened to anything she said?"

"I noticed," I said quietly.

"And then he had the nerve to explode over a simple comment! God, Emma, just admit it—he was an absolute nightmare, and you're better off without him."

I smiled at her protective fury. "I am better off. That's why I'm not angry."

Charlotte paused, her voice softening. "Look, I know you're putting on a brave face. But Diego's clearly moved on, even if he's doing a rubbish job of it. Maybe you should too? My colleague James just broke up with his girlfriend. He's smart, has a real job unlike those football players, and actually reads books. What do you think?"

In our world of speed dating and swipe-right culture, everyone seemed perpetually rushing toward the next relationship. But after spending two years in emotional high gear, I craved a different pace altogether.

"I appreciate the thought, Charlotte, but I'm not ready for setups," I said, stirring honey into my coffee. "When I date again, I want to take things slowly. Get to know someone gradually. No rushing."

"So you don't want to meet anyone at all?" she asked, the disappointment evident in her voice.

"That's not it," I clarified. "I'm open to meeting people. I just want authentic connections—genuine feelings for genuine feelings. No games, no rushed timelines."

My rejection of immediate dating only strengthened Charlotte's belief that Diego had damaged me beyond repair.

"That selfish bastard," she muttered. "He's got you questioning your worth now. You know what? Next time I see him, I'm going to tell him exactly—"

"Please don't," I laughed. "And for what it's worth, I'm not questioning my worth. If anything, I value myself more now."

As weeks passed, I discovered pieces of myself that had been lost during those intense years with Diego. I took a proper baking course, learning to create elaborate French pastries that required focus and precision. I mastered the art of sourdough, finding satisfaction in the slow, deliberate process that couldn't be rushed.

I joined a flower arranging class, finding unexpected peace in creating something beautiful that was meant to be temporary. There was a metaphor there that wasn't lost on me.

"You're a romantic," Charlotte said, not unkindly. "Despite everything."

"I prefer 'optimistic realist,'" I countered. "I haven't given up on love. I just have a better understanding of what I need from it."

Despite Diego and the pain he'd caused, I still believed in the possibility of finding genuine connection—two honest hearts recognizing each other amid the chaos of modern dating. Someone who would value my capacity for devotion rather than exploit it.

"Well, while you're busy being an optimistic realist, the rest of us mere mortals will continue our messy search," Charlotte said, signaling for the check. "But I respect your approach. And when you're ready—even if it's just for a casual introduction—you know I've got a whole roster of pre-screened candidates."

I laughed, appreciating both her concern and her eventual acceptance of my choice. "Deal. But no rushing."

As we left the restaurant, I realized that for the first time since leaving Diego's apartment, I felt genuinely at peace with my decision. Not just intellectually understanding it was right, but emotionally accepting it as well.

The indentation on my finger where his too-small ring had been was completely gone now, the skin smooth as if it had never been marked at all. My heart was following the same path—healing more thoroughly than I had thought possible.

I was no longer defined by what I had lost, but by what I had found: myself, stronger and clearer than before. And when the time was right, I would be ready for love again—not as an escape or a distraction, but as a choice made from wholeness rather than need.

In the meantime, I had sourdough to nurture, flowers to arrange, and a life to rebuild—exactly as I wanted it.