VI. My Mother
I confronted my mother two days later, in the same Meridian Heights townhouse where I’d grown up, the letter and a paternity test request already filed with my attorney.
Eleanor didn’t deny it. She sat very still in her chair, hands folded in her lap, and told me she’d done it because she believed, with everything in her, that Camille wasn’t equipped to carry the weight of the Vance name — the scrutiny, the money, the expectations. She said she thought I’d thank her eventually.
“You cost me nine years with my sons,” I told her. “You cost Camille nine years of not being believed. You don’t get to explain your way out of that.”
I haven’t spoken to my mother since, beyond what our lawyers require. Some debts take longer than an apology to settle.
