Recipe for a Broken Heart

Chapter.15

Chapter 15 — What He Wasn't Saying

The weeks that followed settled into something Camille hadn't quite dared imagine for herself — an ordinary, contented rhythm, without secrecy, without the constant bracing for disaster that had colored every good thing in her life since David left.

It was on an unremarkable Tuesday, three weeks after the dinner with her family, that the first genuine c***k appeared, small enough that Camille almost missed it.

She found Étienne at his desk after hours, staring at his phone with an expression she hadn't seen before — tighter, more guarded.

"Everything okay?"

He looked up, something flickering across his face before he smoothed it over. "Fine. My father called. Nothing important."

"You don't look like it was nothing important."

"It is a family matter. Complicated, and not especially interesting." He set the phone face-down, a small, deliberate gesture Camille recognized, uneasily, as the same kind of redirection she used to notice in David.

The subject change was smooth, practiced, and entirely unlike him. Camille let it go, but carried the unease home with her.

It happened again two days later, a phone call cut short the moment she walked in, his expression rearranging into careful neutrality a fraction too late. She told herself she was being oversensitive — two years of training herself to read withdrawal in a partner was a skill that now felt like it might be conjuring threats where none existed.

And again the following week, a comment from Priya about how the Lyon office had been asking a lot of questions about the Canadian branch's long-term staffing plans.

"What does that mean?" Camille asked, something cold settling low in her stomach.

"No idea. Corporate stuff, probably." Priya shrugged, unconcerned.

That night, over dinner at his apartment, she finally asked directly. "Is something going on with the Lyon office? With your father?"

"There are always conversations happening between offices. It is the nature of running an international company."

"That's not an answer. That's a deflection, and you're good at those, I'm noticing."

Something flickered across his face — tired resignation. "My father is not well, Camille. His health has been declining for some months now, longer than he has admitted to most people. There is pressure, from the board, from my brother, for me to consider returning to Lyon. Sooner rather than later."

"How soon is sooner?"

"Nothing has been decided. I have made no commitments, and I do not intend to make any without discussing it with you first." He took her hand. "I did not tell you sooner because I did not want to worry you over something still uncertain. That was perhaps a mistake. I am sorry."

Old fears rose fast — David's evasions, secrets kept until they could no longer be contained — even though every part of her recognized the two men were nothing alike. "I need you to promise me something. Don't decide what I can handle knowing. Don't protect me from things by keeping them from me — that's not protection, that's just a different kind of hurt."

"I promise. I was wrong to handle it this way. I was trying to protect you from worry, and instead I made you doubt me."

"It scared me. Watching you hide something, even something small."

"I will not make that mistake again. Whatever happens with Lyon, I want you part of that conversation from the beginning."

"What does your father even need, exactly?" Camille asked later, curled against his shoulder.

"A bit of both, I think — the company needs someone, and I happen to be the obvious choice. He is proud. He would rather imply his health is declining than say it outright."

"Do you want to go back? If it came to that."

"Six months ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. Now, considerably more complicated." He turned to look at her directly. "I do not want an ocean between us, Camille. I simply do not yet know what the solution looks like."

"We'll figure it out. Together."

She didn't tell her mother right away, but by Thursday, over dishes, the question came anyway. "You've had that distracted look all week. What happened?"

Camille let it out — Étienne's father, the pressure from Lyon. Her mother listened without interrupting.

"That's a hard thing. I won't pretend it isn't."

"What if he has to go, Ma? What if I get attached and then he leaves, the same way everyone else eventually does?"

Her mother took both of Camille's hands. "I think you've been carrying David's ghost into every relationship since, whether you realize it or not. David left because he chose to. If Étienne ever has to go back, it will not be a choice against you — it will be a family obligation. How he handles that, whether he brings you along or shuts you out, will tell you everything about what kind of man he is."

"He already told me he wants me part of it."

"Then hold him to that. That's the whole test, baby. Not whether hard things happen — they happen to everyone. The test is whether he lets you stand beside him through it." Her mother squeezed her hands. "From what I saw at that dinner, I don't think he's going to fail that test."

"When did you become such good source of relationship advice?"

"Divorced doesn't mean I stopped paying attention, baby." Her mother pulled her into a hug. "Now go call him. Tell him your mother says he'd better keep his word."

Camille laughed, the heaviness in her chest lightening — not because the uncertainty had resolved, but because she trusted, finally, that whatever came next, she wouldn't be facing it blind.