Chapter 8 - The Choice
I told Camilla about my mother's visit while we were washing dishes at her apartment after dinner.
Camilla stopped scrubbing the plate in her hands.
The silence in the small kitchen was deafening.
"She wants to apologize?" Camilla asked, her voice tight.
"Yes. But I told her it's entirely up to you. You hold all the cards, Camilla. If you say no, I will support you 100%."
Camilla dried her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter, staring at the floor.
"Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep?" she whispered.
"How many nights I counted pennies to see if I could afford formula and diapers? All while she sat in her mansion?"
"I know," I said softly, stepping closer. "She doesn't deserve your forgiveness."
"No, she doesn't," Camilla agreed, looking up at me. "But Leo deserves to know his whole family. Even the broken parts."
I was stunned by her emotional maturity.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"I want her to come here," Camilla said firmly. "To this apartment. I want her to see where we lived. Where we survived without her."
I nodded. "I'll arrange it."
The meeting happened a week later.
My mother arrived in a modest car, wearing a simple blouse and slacks. No diamonds. No designer labels.
She stood nervously in the doorway of the Hialeah apartment.
Camilla stood tall, holding Leo's hand.
My mother looked down at the little boy with my eyes. She gasped, tears instantly forming.
"Hello, Eleanor," Camilla said coldly.
"Camilla... I..." My mother couldn't find the words. She looked around the tiny, cramped apartment, the reality of what she had forced upon them finally sinking in.
"I am so incredibly sorry," my mother wept, dropping to her knees so she was eye-level with Leo.
"I was cruel. I was wrong. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you both."
Camilla watched her for a long time.
"You will never interfere in our lives again," Camilla stated, laying down the law. "You will never try to buy his affection. If you want a relationship with him, it will be on our terms."
"Anything. Please," my mother begged.
"Then you can come to his birthday party next month. For one hour."
May you like
My mother nodded eagerly. "Thank you. Thank you, Camilla."
It was a small step, but it was a bridge being built over a massive canyon of trauma.
