Chapter 370
Chapter 370:
“Thank you for coming,” Camille said to her parents. “I know it’s not easy, being here.”
“Of course we came,” Margaret said, her voice gentle. “We’ve missed too many moments when you needed us. We won’t miss any more.”
Alexander took the seat on Camille’s other side, completing their strange circle. “Stefan’s parents are trying to get a flight from Madrid. I’ve arranged for my jet to meet them.”
A nurse pushed through the doors, carrying a clipboard. “Family of Stefan Rodriguez?”
“Yes,” five voices answered at once.
The nurse blinked, taken aback. “The doctor asked me to update you. He’s stable for now. They’ve repaired the main damage, but he’s critical. The next twenty-four hours will be decisive.”
Camille felt her knees weaken with relief. Alexander’s arm slipped around her waist again, supporting her weight.
“Can we see him?” she asked.
“Not yet,” the nurse replied. “He’ll be in recovery for several hours, then intensive care. It might be morning before visitors are allowed.”
She left them with that mixed news—Stefan alive, but barely. The strange gathering fell silent once more. Outside, the storm began to ease, the thunder growing more distant.
Victoria reached for Camille’s hand again. “Sit down, child. You look ready to collapse.”
Camille obeyed, sinking into the chair beside Victoria. For the first time, she truly looked at the older woman, noting the new lines of pain around her mouth, the thinness of her wrists. Victoria’s battle with cancer had clearly taken a toll.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Camille said softly. “You need to rest.”
Victoria’s lip curled. “I’ll rest when I’m dead. Which, contrary to my doctors’ predictions, won’t be today.”
Richard cleared his throat. “Victoria, I hope you know how grateful we are. For everything you’ve done for Camille.”
Victoria waved her hand dismissively, but Camille caught the subtle softening around her eyes. The two families had formed an unlikely alliance during Camille’s abduction, their shared concern bridging years of misunderstanding.
“We brought something for you,” Margaret said, handing Camille a small paper bag. “We found it when we were looking through old photos.”
Camille opened the bag. Inside lay a small silver frame holding a photograph of herself at eight years old, standing proudly on the dock at Cedar Lake, fishing rod in hand. Her father’s arm was around her shoulders. Her mother smiled from the background, setting a picnic on a checkered blanket.
“Our happy girl,” Margaret whispered. “Before everything changed.”
Tears welled in Camille’s eyes again, but this time they were different—not the desperate sobs of earlier, but something gentler. Sorrow for what was lost, for the innocence she’d never reclaim.
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