The Weekends He Never Gave Me Chapter 08

The Weekends He Never Gave Me Chapter 08

Dario got sick.

At 2:00 a.m. on Saturday, he called me three times. I never heard the phone ring.

When I woke up, I saw his messages: [My stomach hurts.]

Half an hour later: [It’s pretty bad.]

The final text arrived at four a.m.: [Never mind. Sleep well.]

I stared at the screen, then dialed Lucia.

She picked up quickly. “Livia?”

“Dario has stomach pain. Please check on him.”

Silence stretched on the other end. “Aren’t you coming over?”

“We broke up.”

Lucia sighed and made no attempt to persuade me.

I headed out at noon. The elevator doors slid open, and Dario was standing inside. He looked

frighteningly pale.

“Where are you going?”

“To get lunch.”

“I called you. Why didn’t you come?”

The question caught me off guard. It felt hauntingly familiar, dragging me back to a Friday night

years ago.

I’d been burning up at 104°F, curled under my blankets, whispering to him: Are you really not coming?

Dario had laughed, telling me not to look so miserable-that his girlfriend would be returned to me

Monday morning.

I looked straight at him. “It’s Saturday.”

All color drained from Dario’s face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” I pressed the button for the ground floor.

Suddenly he gripped the handrail, his voice cracking. “Livia, don’t use my own words against me

like this.”

Nurned my head.

His eyes were wet. “I finally realized how cruel that sounded.”

The elevator descended, floor numbers ticking slowly downward.

Dario spoke without warning. “The night you had that fever, I’d already driven to your apartment

building.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“I sat in the car for twenty minutes.” He dropped his gaze. “I wanted to come up. Then Giada called and asked if I wanted to go camping outside the city.”

I already knew the rest. “You went with her.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Dario stayed quiet for a long moment, then gave a hollow smile. “I convinced myself you would forgive me once you woke up.”

My fingers curled into my palms. Some answers, when learned far too late, no longer brought pain.

Only absurdity.

The elevator reached the lobby, and I stepped out.

Dario followed. “Livia.”

I glanced over my shoulder.

He stood in the lobby, unwell and drawn.

I pulled out my phone and ordered him an Uber, setting the hospital as the destination.

Dario stared at the ride notification. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I smiled faintly. “You taught me this yourself. When you’re sick, call a doctor. Don’t wallow in

self-pity.”

His eyes reddened.

The car pulled up. I held the door open for him. Dario didn’t get in.

“Livia.”

“Yes?”

“How much pain were you in, back then?”

I thought it over. “It hurt when my fever hit 104. It hurt when Nonna was hospitalized. It hurt a little when I gave up our birthday celebration. Even more on the night of Nonna’s 70th birthday dinner. After that, it stopped.”

His lips trembled. “What do you mean, it stopped?”

“Pain wears off eventually.” I told him plainly. “Dario, you don’t get to turn someone’s feelings back on just because you’re finally ready.”

The car door’stood open between us. Dario hung his head. After a long pause, he got in.

Just before the car pulled away, he rolled down the window. “Livia.”

I met his eyes.

“If I give you all seven days of the week now… is there still time?”

I shook my head. “I’ve already taken all seven days back for myself.”

The window rolled up slowly. Through the glass I watched Dario cry.

There was no calculated helplessness, no ploy to win my sympathy. He simply lowered his head, shoulders shaking softly.

But his grief was no longer my burden to carry.