Seventy two

Ellen’s POV

Staring at Kamille left my mind a whirlwind of disbelief and shock. My hands gripped at my phone and purse tightly, leaving my knuckles white from the pressure.

I needed to be really sure it was Kamille and not me running mad from imagination. I dropped my purse and took a few photographs of Kamille and Belle together on her front porch.

“Let's go,” I instructed the driver.

“I have thought you would never request that,” He replied and we drove off.

The image of Kamille, standing there on her front porch, played over and over in my mind like a relentless, surreal loop. How could she be alive? How could she have hidden from us for so long? How the hell did we miss this?

I barely registered the familiar sights of the city as the car sped towards our mansion. My thoughts were consumed by questions and emotions.

My heart raced a mixture of anger, confusion, and an unexpected twinge of relief.

At least I was not dead or mad, to be seeing Kamille in broad daylight.

The world