Chapter 7 - Marco Didn’t Want His Mother’s Version
Marco agreed to meet the next afternoon.
Not at my house.
Camilla chose a quiet hotel lounge.
Public enough that she could leave.
Private enough that nobody would stare.
I sat twenty feet away because she asked me to be there.
Not at the table.
That distinction mattered.
Marco looked exhausted when he arrived.
He did not kiss her.
He did not try.
“Did you open it?”
“Yes.”
His face tightened.
Camilla studied him.
“Do you want to know what it said?”
He looked toward me.
“I can guess.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“That's the problem.”
He looked back.
She continued.
“You've been guessing for eight months.”
“I asked my father.”
“Exactly.”
Marco's jaw tightened.
“What did it say?”
“Mom was helping your mother leave.”
His expression hardened.
“I knew it.”
“Not because Elena manipulated her.”
He said nothing.
Camilla continued.
“Your mom asked for help.”
Marco laughed softly.
“You don't know my mother.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
That hurt.
He looked away.
Camilla immediately seemed to regret the cruelty.
She did not take it back.
Marco asked:
“What else?”
“Dad hired someone to follow Mom. Found out where Lydia was staying. Gave your father the motel.”
Marco looked toward me.
I stayed seated.
He said:
“So he admits it now.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow I'm still the problem.”
Camilla frowned.
“This isn't a ranking.”
“It always becomes one.”
He leaned forward.
“Your father does something insane twenty years ago and gets to be complicated. I check where my wife is when she disappears and suddenly I'm Anthony.”
Camilla stared.
“You turned location sharing back on without telling me.”
“Because you stopped answering.”
“You canceled my hotel.”
That was new.
Marco's face changed.
I almost stood.
Camilla looked toward me.
Stay.
I did.
Marco lowered his voice.
“You were angry.”
“You canceled my reservation.”
“You booked a hotel ten minutes from our condo instead of talking to me.”
“So?”
“You were going to sit in a room alone and spiral.”
Her face changed.
“Did you cancel it?”
“Yes.”
I could see how hard it was for him to hear himself.
He continued.
“I thought if you came home—”
“That I would calm down.”
“Yes.”
“Did I ask you to?”
“No.”
“Did you tell me you canceled it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You would've gone somewhere else.”
Camilla leaned back.
Marco heard the sentence too late.
He rubbed his face.
“I wasn't trying to trap you.”
“I believe you.”
That surprised him.
She continued.
“You were trying to control the outcome.”
He looked toward me.
I saw the challenge.
I did not accept it.
Camilla asked:
“Why didn't you open my mother's letter?”
Marco's anger dropped.
He stared at the table.
“My mom kept it.”
“Yes.”
“I found it after she died.”
“Yes.”
“I called Dad.”
“Yes.”
“He told me Elena had been trying to convince Mom to leave him for years.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marco looked at her.
“Because my mother came back.”
Camilla said nothing.
He continued.
“She always came back.”
His voice cracked slightly on the second sentence.
Camilla waited.
Marco looked toward the window.
“When I was twelve, Dad told me she was sick.”
“I know.”
His eyes snapped back.
“What?”
“Anthony told us.”
Marco went still.
Camilla continued carefully.
“She was at your aunt's.”
He stared.
“Dad told me she was in a clinic.”
“He took you to your aunt's house.”
Marco's face emptied.
“No.”
“He said you stood on the porch.”
“No.”
“Marco.”
“No.”
A waiter passed.
Nobody at the table moved until he was gone.
Marco whispered:
“I remember the porch.”
Camilla watched him.
“I remember thinking we stopped there because Dad needed directions.”
His eyes filled, but he blinked it away angrily.
“He told me to ring the bell.”
Camilla stayed quiet.
Marco's breathing changed.
“My mom opened the door.”
He stared at the table.
“She hugged me so hard I couldn't breathe.”
Camilla said:
“She came home after that.”
“Yes.”
His voice had changed.
He was no longer defending a theory.
He was twelve.
He said:
“I thought she chose us.”
Camilla answered:
“Maybe she did.”
He looked up.
She continued.
“But your father put you on that porch.”
Marco's jaw trembled once.
He looked away.
Several seconds passed.
Then he said:
“You think this makes me him.”
“No.”
“Your father does.”
I stayed silent.
Camilla said:
“I think you cancel my hotel reservations when I want space.”
Marco looked back.
“I think you track my car after I turn tracking off.”
He said nothing.
“I think you kept a letter because uncertainty about my mother made me easier to argue with.”
He flinched.
“That one isn't fair.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn't know what was in it either.”
“No.”
Camilla nodded.
“You just kept telling me what it probably said.”
Marco sat very still.
Then:
“I didn't want another dead woman deciding our marriage.”
Camilla's face softened.
Not forgiveness.
Recognition.
“She wasn't.”
May you like
Marco looked confused.
“You were.”
