Chapter 13 - CAMILLA’S VERSION OF THE BREAKUP
Camilla finally agreed to speak to Rebecca.
Not Tristan.
“Why me?” Rebecca asked.
“Because he’ll turn it into a cross-examination.”
“He might.”
They met at a café in Back Bay.
No Bryce.
Camilla looked exhausted.
Rebecca did not offer comfort.
“What do you want?”
“To tell you what happened.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Camilla shook her head.
“You know Tristan’s version.”
“He hasn't told me much.”
That surprised her.
Rebecca continued:
“Which is part of the problem.”
Camilla stared.
“Then what do you think?”
“I think you left a man after a traumatic injury, started seeing someone who benefited from his reduced influence, and publicly humiliated him.”
Camilla flinched.
“Concise.”
“Your turn.”
Camilla told the truth as she understood it.
Tristan became angry during recovery.
“True,” Rebecca said.
“He hated help.”
“True.”
“He made me feel incompetent constantly.”
“Probably true.”
“He accused me of treating him like a child.”
“Did you?”
“Sometimes.”
Rebecca nodded.
Camilla continued:
“I was drowning.”
“Did you tell him?”
“I tried.”
“Did you say, ‘I am emotionally exhausted and need support’?”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“That we needed normal life.”
Rebecca leaned back.
“Different.”
Camilla looked down.
“I know.”
“Bryce?”
Camilla’s face tightened.
“We weren't physically together before I ended things.”
“That was not my question.”
“No.”
“Emotional?”
“Yes.”
“Did Tristan know?”
“No.”
“So when you told donors he became suspicious…”
Camilla closed her eyes.
“He had reason.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Camilla whispered:
“I still stayed longer than most people would.”
Rebecca’s face hardened.
“There.”
“What?”
“The ledger.”
Camilla stared.
“You keep adding up months of care as though it earns you permission for what happened after.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“You did care for him. It mattered. You were generous sometimes. Exhausted often. Scared. All true.”
Camilla’s eyes filled.
“And then you left.”
“Yes.”
“You were allowed.”
Camilla froze.
Rebecca continued:
“You were allowed to leave.”
Tears slipped down Camilla’s face.
“No one ever says that.”
“I am.”
“Tristan never—”
“He let you.”
Camilla looked up.
That was worse.
“You did not need to turn him into a villain to justify leaving.”
Silence.
Camilla started crying harder.
There.
The core.
She had felt guilty for leaving an injured man.
So she constructed moral permission.
Tristan bitter.
Controlling.
Impossible.
Some true.
Exaggerated enough to make departure righteous.
Then Bryce’s presence required further justification.
Tristan became past.
Bryce became future.
The gala cruelty was the final performance of that story.
“I wanted people to see I was okay,” Camilla whispered.
Rebecca nodded.
“And that he wasn't.”
Camilla cried.
“Yes.”
Rebecca sat back.
“Why did you move the chair?”
“I wanted him away from the table.”
“Why not ask?”
“I was angry.”
“Why?”
“He looked at me like he knew.”
“Knew what?”
Camilla hesitated.
“About Bryce’s deal.”
Rebecca’s expression changed.
There.
“You were discussing Harbor?”
“Bryce said Tristan was trying to sabotage it because of me.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Partly.”
“So the gala was also about the foundation.”
“I don't know.”
“Camilla.”
She looked away.
“I wanted Tristan to stop acting like he still controlled everything.”
Rebecca stared.
“He was sitting silently.”
“I know.”
The absurdity broke through.
Camilla covered her face.
“I know.”
Rebecca did not absolve.
Did not attack.
She asked:
“Will you say this to the foundation investigator?”
Camilla looked up.
“What investigator?”
“Governance review.”
Her face changed.
“Bryce didn't tell you.”
“No.”
That mattered.
Rebecca stood.
“You should ask why.”
Camilla grabbed her wrist.
“Rebecca.”
She stopped.
“Is Tristan trying to destroy Bryce?”
“No.”
“Me?”
“No.”
“Then what does he want?”
Rebecca looked at her.
“For everyone to stop deciding what he wants without asking him.”
Camilla released her.
May you like
The sentence followed her home.
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