Chapter 12
Lucia’s sister, Aunt Renata, came to see me.
She had known my late wife longer than I had.
She listened to the whole story.
Then called me an idiot.
Fair.
“For Camille?”
“For thinking happiness excuses inattention.”
That hurt more.
“What did I miss?”
Renata listed it.
Emma stopped running to Camille months ago.
She began asking Maria to help with clothes Camille used to choose.
She stopped playing piano unless another adult stayed.
She once told Renata:
“Camille talks different when Daddy leaves.”
My jaw tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Renata stared.
“She told you.”
I went still.
“She did?”
“At Christmas.”
Memory.
Emma sitting beside me.
Saying:
“Camille voice mean when you gone.”
I laughed and answered:
“Everybody sounds mean before coffee.”
My chest hurt.
I had turned a warning into a joke because the alternative interrupted the future I wanted.
Renata’s voice softened.
“You were lonely.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Don’t rescue me.”
She nodded.
Good.
I continued.
“I wanted the marriage to work.”
“So you interpreted evidence generously.”
“Yes.”
That was accurate.
Not villainy.
Still dangerous.
I looked toward the music room.
“What do I do with that?”
“Remember it without making Emma responsible for your guilt.”
There.
Useful.
I had already begun hovering.
Checking her hands.
Asking whether she was okay too often.
Watching every adult near her.
Renata saw it.
“If every room becomes a threat scan, Camille still controls the house.”
I hated that.
Because it was true.
Protection after betrayal can become another form of domination.
I needed to listen better.
Not watch everything harder.
May you like
Emma deserved childhood.
Not a father permanently converting fear into surveillance.
