You_dont_have_to_say_you_love_me_io_che_non_viv... <Web>

Marco walked in, still in his work clothes. He didn't ask what was wrong; he didn't offer a rehearsed speech. Instead, he saw her shivering and quietly turned up the heat. He went to the stove and made a cup of the thick, dark cocoa she loved, setting it down in front of her with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

Elena grew up in a house where "I love you" was rarely spoken. Her father, Marco, was a man of few words and calloused hands. As a teenager, Elena felt this silence like a gap, especially when she heard the melodic, dramatic declarations in the songs her mother played on the radio—songs like "Io che non vivo (senza te)." To Elena, love was supposed to be a grand, vocal performance. you_dont_have_to_say_you_love_me_io_che_non_viv...

As he turned to leave, Elena whispered, "Why don't you ever say it?" Marco walked in, still in his work clothes

Marco stopped. He looked at the steam rising from her cup, then back at her. "Elena," he said softly, "the words are just the wrapping. The gift is the staying. You don't have to say you love me to know I am here. I have been here every day, haven't I?" He went to the stove and made a

You Don't Have to Say You Love Me by Sarra Manning - Goodreads