Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time novel Chapter 3

Diego's mother rushed to the hospital when she heard the news, shoving her premium credit card into my hand with tears streaming down her face.

"You've given him back his life," she whispered, her Portuguese accent thickening with emotion. "Please, let me give you something in return."

I stared at the piece of plastic numbly, the platinum finish catching the harsh hospital lights.

These two years hadn't been about money. They never were.

All of Diego's teammates and friends called me his fiancée—"Mrs. Ferreira-to-be" was what his captain had taken to calling me. But only I knew the uncomfortable truth—I was nothing of the sort. Not really.

We'd never even properly confessed our feelings to each other, let alone made our relationship official. Before his injury, we'd been dating casually for just three months. I was the English teacher who'd caught the eye of Porto's rising star. A few glamorous dinners, a handful of passionate nights—nothing that suggested permanence.

But I had desperately clung to one promise from Diego: "Emma, when my legs heal, we'll get married right away."

He'd said those words after his first consultation, when the specialist had clinically explained how minimal his chances were of ever walking again, let alone playing professional football. I'd wheeled him home in silence, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests.

As soon as we crossed the threshold of his apartment, he broke down completely. The golden boy of European football, suddenly cast down from the heights—no one could handle such a catastrophic fall from grace.

I'd seen the tabloid headlines earlier that day: "FERREIRA'S CAREER OVER" and "PORTO STAR TO NEVER PLAY AGAIN" splashed across newsstands throughout the city.

I held him tightly as he shook with rage and grief. Without warning, he bit down on my shoulder—hard enough to break skin, to draw blood that soaked through my blouse.

The bite was so deep, so vicious, that even now, two years later, my shoulder bears the scar—a permanent reminder of his pain.

When he saw the blood spreading across the white fabric, he snapped back to reality, horror replacing rage in an instant.

"My God... Emma, I'm sorry," he frantically apologized, reaching for me with trembling hands. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what—I can't—"

I hushed him gently, wiping away his tears with my thumbs. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," he growled, his voice low and broken. "Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever be okay again."

After cleaning the wound and changing my shirt, I began my usual routine of massaging his calves, working the muscles that could no longer feel my touch. That's when he made his promise—the promise I've held onto like a lifeline.

No, that's not quite right. First, he asked me a question that caught me completely off guard.

He seemed about to speak, his lips parting slightly. For a breathless moment, I thought he might say yes. Then his expression closed, something shuttering behind his eyes, and he remained silent.

Was it because he still felt unworthy with his damaged body? Or was it simpler than that—had he simply never loved me the way I loved him?

Even after two years together, I couldn't read the truth in his eyes. Perhaps he didn't know the answer himself.

I could only laugh softly at my own foolish hopes, the sound brittle in the quiet room.

But the ring on my finger—he had placed it there himself six months into his recovery, during a rare good day when he'd managed to stand for five seconds with support bars.

"A promise," he'd said then, not meeting my eyes as he slid the simple band onto my finger.

After loving him for so long, first from afar and then through his darkest moments, how could I not hold onto that dream? I'd believed so naively that love freely given would eventually be returned. That devotion would be rewarded with devotion.

But as I looked at him now, finally on the verge of recovery, I saw no love reflecting back at me—only guilt, confusion, and something that looked terribly like relief.