Chapter 391

Chapter 391:

“Camille,” her father said, the first to recover. “You look well.”

She allowed a brief hug, still uncomfortable with physical contact from the people who had once doubted her most. “Thank you for suggesting this place,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

“You used to love their chocolate almond cake,” Margaret said, her voice softer than Camille remembered. “You would beg to come here on your birthday.”

“Did I?” Camille asked, genuinely trying to recall. So many memories had been pushed down, buried beneath pain and reinvention.

They settled into their seats, ordering drinks to bridge the awkward silence. Three people who shared blood but had become strangers, searching for common ground.

“We saw the press conference,” Richard said finally. “You were quite impressive.”

Camille smiled faintly. “Victoria trained me well.”

“It wasn’t just training,” Margaret interjected. “That poise was always in you. Even as a child.”

The waiter brought their drinks. Camille wrapped her fingers around her water glass, needing something solid to hold onto.

“I’ve been thinking about your childhood lately,” Margaret continued, her eyes showing a new vulnerability. “Looking through old albums. Remembering.”

“What have you remembered?” Camille asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice. What their memories contained and what hers held might be very different.

Margaret reached into her bag and pulled out a small envelope. She slid it across the table. “I found these last week. I thought you might want them.”

Camille hesitated before opening it. Inside were three photographs she’d never seen before. The first showed a girl of about six sitting on a dock, a fishing rod in hand, a gap-toothed grin wide beneath a sun hat too large for her small head.

“Cedar Lake,” Camille murmured.

“Your first fish,” Richard said, smiling at the memory. “A tiny sunfish. You insisted we release it because it ‘had a family waiting.'”

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The second photo showed the same girl a few years older, standing beside a science fair project. “WATER ECOSYSTEMS” proclaimed the header in careful block letters.

“You won first place,” Margaret said. “The judge said he’d never seen such advanced work from a fourth grader.”

The third photo stopped Camille’s breath. In it, she sat at a piano, her small fingers positioned carefully on the keys, her face a study in concentration.

“My piano lessons,” she whispered. “I’d forgotten.”

“You were so determined,” Margaret said, her eyes misty. “You practiced that Chopin piece until your fingers hurt. Said you wanted it to be perfect.”

“What happened to the piano?” Camille asked, the memory taking shape as she spoke. “It was a baby grand. Mahogany.”

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