Chapter 404

Chapter 404:

Relief flooded Eleanor’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“But understand this,” Camille continued, her voice firm. “If he doesn’t want to see you, that’s the end of it. I won’t push him. And if you hurt him again in any way…”

“I understand,” Eleanor said. “You’re protecting him as I failed to do. As you should.”

She removed a small, worn photograph from her bag, placing it on the desk. “This is Alexander at eight,” she said. “The sailing competition he won that summer.”

Camille looked down at the image of a grinning boy with windswept hair, holding a small trophy. His smile was uninhibited in a way she’d rarely seen on the adult Alexander.

“He used to laugh all the time,” Eleanor said, her voice thick with memory. “The sound would fill the whole house. After the accident, after what we did…” Her voice trailed off.

“We never heard that laugh again. Except in that photo with you.”

Eleanor rose to leave, her movements weighted with grief.

“Leave your contact details with my assistant,” Camille said. “I’ll speak with Alexander tonight.”

Eleanor paused at the door. “We named him after Alexander the Great,” she said softly. “Edward wanted a conqueror’s name. But all I ever wanted was for him to be happy.” Her eyes, so like her son’s, met Camille’s one last time. “Thank you for giving him that, at least. For helping him find joy again, even if it’s a joy we’ll never share.”

After she left, Camille remained at the window, watching the city lights blink on as darkness fell completely. She thought of the conversation ahead with Alexander, of the rage it might unleash, of wounds reopened and possibly, just possibly, finally beginning to heal.

She had promised to help Eleanor Pierce. Now she had to find the wisdom to help Alexander too, whatever path he chose to take.

Her fingers traced the edge of the childhood photograph, this evidence of happiness before pain. She wondered if such uncomplicated joy could ever truly be reclaimed, or if the best any of them could hope for was to build something new from the broken pieces.

The penthouse was quiet when Camille arrived home. Only the kitchen light glowed, spilling onto the polished floor. She found Alexander at the island counter, papers spread before him, a glass of whiskey at his elbow. The amber liquid caught the light as he raised it, not looking up when she entered.

“Long day?” he asked, still scanning the document in front of him.

Camille set her bag down, her heart beating faster. The weight of Eleanor Pierce’s visit pressed on her shoulders. “You could say that.”

She moved to the refrigerator, buying time as she pulled out a bottle of water. Her mind raced, searching for the right words. How do you tell someone their estranged mother showed up after seven years of silence?

“Someone came to see me today,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

Alexander made a noncommittal sound, still absorbed in his work.

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