“Because he begged me not to.”
“He came every Sunday?”
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My anger sharpened. “Everyone keeps saying that like my heart was a vase on a shelf.”
Melissa nodded. “I never thought it was fair to you.”
A small voice came from the doorway.
“Mrs. Camille?”
Matilda stood there with her backpack zipped tight.
I crouched. “Hi, Matilda.”
She studied me. “Are you still angry?”
My anger sharpened.
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“Yes,” I confessed. “But not at you, sweetheart.”
“Mr. Atlas said you alphabetize your spice jars.”
I laughed through the ache.
“I do,” I said. “And he was always messing them up.”
Before Matilda could say anything, Melissa touched my shoulder. “Camille, if you choose to be part of Matilda’s life, we do it properly. Background checks, home visits, court approval. Nothing happens because Atlas asked nicely from a tape.”
Melissa touched my shoulder.
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“Good,” I said, looking at Matilda. “Then nobody gets another promise that breaks.”
Matilda’s chin trembled. “Does that mean you’re leaving?”
“No,” I said. “It means if I stay, I stay the right way, sweetheart.”
***
Later that week, Atlas’s family held a memorial lunch. I went so no one else could tell the story for me.
His cousin Bethany cornered me near the coffee urn. “So it’s true? Atlas had some secret child?”
“Matilda isn’t his child.”
“But he played father to her while you sat home alone?”
“Does that mean you’re leaving?”
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The patio went quiet.
Morgan stepped forward. “Bethany, don’t.”
“You don’t get to speak,” Bethany snapped. “You helped hide it.”
Morgan went pale. “I should have told Camille. I’ll carry that forever. But don’t make what Atlas did sound dirty because you don’t understand it.”
I looked at Bethany. “My husband hurt me, sure. He lied, yes. But he didn’t betray me with Matilda. He loved a lonely child because the loudest grief in our marriage was the one we stopped naming. If any of you turn her into gossip, you will answer to me.”
No one spoke.
“You helped hide it.”
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***
Three weeks later, after fingerprints, interviews, and one panic-cleaned home visit, I became Matilda’s approved weekend foster placement.
That Sunday, she had a small program at Willow House. There was one empty chair in front.
“Atlas always sat there,” Melissa whispered.
I sat down.
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