“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then explain the closet.”
Camille's eyes filled with tears.
“She rejected me.”
“She was two.”
“Every photo.”
“What?”
“Every family photo. She would reach for you, never me.”
“So?”
“I thought she would adjust eventually.”
“To what?”
“To us.”
“No. Say what you mean.”
Camille looked down.
“To me being her mother.”
“You weren't.”
“I was raising her.”
“You were supposed to care for her.”
“I wanted her to see me as family.”
“You punished her until she used the word you wanted.”
Camille began crying.
“The closet wasn't supposed to become what it became.”
“What was it supposed to be?”
“Quiet time.”
“In darkness?”
“At first the light worked.”
I felt sick.
“So you did remove the bulb.”
She wiped her face.
“She kept switching it on.”
I stared at her.
“You deliberately removed the light because my daughter was trying to make the room less frightening.”
Camille closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How long did you leave her?”
“The first times were two or three minutes.”
“And later?”
“Longer.”
“How long?”
“I don't remember.”
“I have the logs.”
She said nothing.
“Twenty-three minutes.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
“No. You know the number. Lily knows twenty-three minutes.”
Camille covered her mouth.
I continued.
“Why tell her I left because she cried?”
“I wanted her to stop screaming every morning.”
“You made my daughter think she controlled whether her father came home.”
“I wasn't thinking.”
“You planned fake emails.”
Silence.
“You rerouted security alerts.”
Silence.
“You fired Nora.”
“Yes.”
“You lied about Mrs. Alden.”
“Yes.”
“You helped alter trust documents.”
Camille's expression changed.
“That part was my father.”
“Don't do that.”
“What?”
“Don't suddenly become a passenger in your own choices.”
She stared at me.
“I didn't know he moved the foundation money.”
“But you knew he wanted control.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Camille looked toward the table.
“My entire life, my father taught me there are two kinds of people.”
“What kinds?”
“The ones inside the room where decisions happen and everyone else.”
“And you wanted inside.”
“Yes.”
“You married me for access?”
“No.”
I said nothing.
She leaned forward.
“I did love you.”
“Maybe.”