“Mom…”
She raised one hand.
“Not here. Don’t apologize because people are watching, the money stopped, or Camille’s father is angry. When you can tell the truth without an audience, you know where we live.”
She turned to me. “Robert, take me home.”
Camille protested that we could not leave because it would ruin everything.
Helen looked back calmly. “No, dear. You already did.”
Guests quietly opened a path for us. Charles joined us near the exit, apologized to Helen, and offered to reimburse everything I had paid.
“Let the deposits remain the cost of a lesson,” I said.
He glanced toward Camille and Ethan arguing beside the untouched cake. “Some lessons cost more than money.”
We sat silently in the car, watching the glowing reception tent from a distance.
“Do you think we lost him?” Helen whispered.
I could not answer immediately. Our son was alive and reachable, yet he had chosen distance when his mother needed him.
“He has to decide whether he wants to be found.”
