Chapter 132

Chapter 132:

“Thank you,” Richard said, his voice rough with emotion. “That’s more than we dared hope for.”

They ordered food mechanically, none of them particularly interested in eating. As her parents engaged with the server, Camille studied them with new eyes. They had aged years in the months since she’d left. Gray dominated her father’s hair now. Lines had deepened around her mother’s mouth.

When the server left, a silence fell over the table, the uncomfortable silence of people who once knew everything about each other and now were nearly strangers.

“We saw the news about the Phoenix Grid,” her father said finally, grasping for neutral territory. “It’s an extraordinary project.”

“Yes, it is.” Camille allowed herself a small bit of pride. “It will transform the city’s power infrastructure completely.”

“Are you… happy, Camille?” her mother asked suddenly, the question so direct that it caught Camille off guard. “With Victoria? With this new life?”

Camille considered the question, not allowing herself the easy lie. “I’m… becoming who I need to be. Happiness wasn’t the goal at first. Survival was. Then justice.”

“And now?” Richard asked quietly.

An image of Alexander flashed in Camille’s mind, his smile, his steady presence, the way he looked at her as if seeing all of her. “Now, there might be room for more than that.”

Margaret nodded, understanding something in Camille’s tone. “I’m glad. You deserve that. You always did.”

They ate in awkward silence. When the meal ended, they stood together, the moment of parting equally awkward.

“May I…” Margaret began hesitantly, “may I hug you? Just once?”

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Camille hesitated, then gave a small nod. Her mother’s arms went around her, familiar yet strange, the scent of her perfume unleashing a flood of memories, both good and painful. The embrace was brief, slightly stiff, but genuine. Richard didn’t ask for a hug, respecting the boundaries Camille had established.

“Take care of yourself,” he said simply. “We’re here if… when you’re ready.”

Camille watched them walk to the elevator, looking smaller and more fragile than the parents who had once loomed so large in her life. As the doors closed behind them, she sat back down, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the journals.

She opened the green one again, flipping through pages of her younger self’s handwriting. Pain and joy and ordinary days captured in a child’s words.

Her phone buzzed. Alexander: How did it go?

Camille stared at the text, unsure how to answer. Not well. Not badly. Something in between.

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