Page 119 of The Good Girl Effect
“You’re a fraud!” I bellow.
“I never lied about anything!” she shouts.
My daughter appears behind Camille, clutching close to her side. “Stop yelling,” Bea murmurs tearfully.
Camille shields her, and I want to reach for my daughter, but for what? To protect her from Camille? The woman who has cared for her and loved her like her own this entire time. It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right.
“Your papa and I are sorry,” Camille mumbles, kneeling down to face Bea. “We won’t yell anymore, but we need to have a grown-up conversation.”
Camille looks over her shoulder at me, and I let out a heated sigh before turning away and running my hands through my hair.
“Now, go watch your cartoons.”
“Okay,” Bea murmurs sadly before shuffling out to the living room.
The moment she’s gone, Camille closes the door so we’re alone.
“I am not a fraud,” she states quietly.
“You’re fired,” I grit through my teeth, and my heart bursts in my chest at the way she puts a brave face on. Without showing an ounce of weakness, she holds her chin high as it trembles. I wish I could say the same. Just uttering those words makes my legs shake and my heart shatter.
“Fine, but I am not a fraud. And I didn’t lie.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I implore her.
“When could I have told you, Jack? You wouldn’t let me speak! You silenced me every chance you had. And what about you?” she whisper-shouts.
“What about me?” I ask.
“When wereyougoing to tell me that you’re moving back to America? Was any of this real to you, or was I just something to fill a wife-size hole for you?”
I take an angry step toward her. “I changed my mind.”
“What do you mean you changed your mind?”
She’s standing toe-to-toe with me, shouting quietly in my face.
“I’m not moving back to America. At least I wasn’t. And how dare you say that to me? You were never a replacement.”
“So you are moving back now?”
“Yes, maybe,” I growl.
“Why?” she argues. “Because you found out I’mnotperfect? You found out that I’m nothing like her? I won’t live in her shadow, Jack. I refuse to.”
“No,” I reply, feeling flustered. Fighting with Camille makes me forget why I was angry. In fact, it only makes me want her more. “Fuck, I don’t know.” I turn my back on her, storming across the room to breathe. I pull at my hair, trying to make sense of my emotions.
“You know what I think?” she asks from behind me. “I think seeing that letter reminded you of what you had with her. Seeing that letter reminded you that I’m not her.”
“You’re not her,” I grumble lowly to myself.
“And you’re mad at me for that,” she snaps, and I hear the tears in her voice. There is raw emotion and pain in her words, and it guts me. “You’re mad at me because I’m not Emmaline.”
Spinning toward her, it’s like I’m coming undone. “No,” I bark. Then I take her face in my hands, pulling her so close it hurts. “I’m not mad at you because you’re not her,” I mutter through my own tears. She’s staring into my eyes with longing and agony. “I’m mad at you because you made me love you more.”
When she blinks, more tears cascade over her cheeks, and I feel so inclined to kiss her it scares me. My body is drawn to hers like she owns me and is calling me home.
Instead, I release her jaw and step away.
