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Camille

I had become a ghost in the house.
Words seemed to weigh more than silence itself, so I chose to remain quiet. From morning to night, all I did was exist apathetically. I didn’t talk to Carmen, avoided Suzu, and, most of all, kept Javier at a distance. It wasn’t planned, it just happened.
My mind was tired, my body even more so, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone.
Deep down, I knew I was bothering everyone. Carmen always tried to cheer me up with a special meal or with her endless chatter about the flowers in the garden. Suzu would throw concerned glances and make sharp comments in an attempt to provoke a reaction from me, but nothing worked.
The truth was, after everything, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t know what to do with the emptiness that had settled inside me.
And Javier... He was as distant as I was, even though we were under the same roof. I would sometimes hear his firm steps in the hallway, but he never stopped at my room. I never sought him out either. We were trapped in a strange and painful dance, where neither of us knew how to take the first step to get out of it.
That morning, I decided to stay in bed again. The sunlight was streaming through the window, but I didn’t feel like getting up. It was as if my body had merged with the mattress, and any effort seemed impossible.
The sound of the door opening made me flinch. I didn’t look to see who it was, but I didn’t need to. My mother’s unmistakable voice filled the room.
“You look horrible,” was the first thing she said when she entered, pushing the door open roughly.
I turned my face to the other side, trying to ignore her.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have the energy to argue, and, frankly, she was right. I looked horrible.
“Don’t be childish,” Roberta’s tone was firm, impatient. “I’ve been trying to get in touch for days. Carmen told me you were here.”
She walked over to me, analyzing every detail with that critical gaze I knew so well. She wore a flawless dress, and her hair was perfectly styled, as always. My mother never allowed herself to look anything less than perfect, and I knew that in her eyes, I was the antithesis of all that in that moment.
I rolled my eyes, but didn’t say anything. The mattress sank slightly, and I realized she had sat next to me. Her presence was suffocating, even when she was silent.
“What happened to you, Camille?” she asked, sitting in the armchair by the bed. “Don’t tell me this whole depression is just because of a miscarriage,” she sighed as if she were tired, but not of me, more so of the situation.
The way she said it made me want to scream. As if it weren’t a big deal. As if the emptiness I felt wasn’t important.
“I’m not depressed,” I murmured, avoiding her gaze.
“Of course, you are. And now’s not the time for that.” She sighed, as if speaking to a child. “Juan Carlos sent a message.”
That sentence made something snap inside me. I knew there was a reason for her visit. My mother never came by just to see me. There was always something behind it.
“I’m not interested,” I replied, still not looking at her.
“Don’t be foolish, Camille.” Her voice hardened. “He wants to know who Javier’s new ally is. He said it’s important for deciding the next steps.”
I closed my eyes, trying to control what was rising in my chest. It wasn’t sadness. It was anger.
“I don’t know anything.”
“Of course, you do.” She leaned forward, her voice low but sharp. “You’re his wife. Don’t give me that.”
I took a deep breath, but the anger began to slip through the cracks.
“Do you think Javier tells me everything?” I asked, my voice rising. “He doesn’t tell me anything, mom. And even if I knew, I don’t want anyone else dying because of me.”
She narrowed her eyes, frustration evident.
“Don’t be naive, Camille. This isn’t just about you or Javier. It’s about our family. About power.”
It was as if a dam had broken. All the apathy I had felt in the last few days was replaced by an explosion of emotions. I suddenly got up, my bare feet touching the cold floor, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Power?” My voice came out sharply. “You think this is about power?”
She stepped back slightly, surprised by my reaction.
“I lost my baby!” I shouted, tears finally streaming down my face. “And all you can think about is power? Alliances?”
“Camille…”
“No!” I interrupted. “I was carrying a life, and it was taken from me before I even understood it existed! And now you want me to betray my husband?”
She looked at me, her lips pressed tight, not knowing what to say.
“You know what? Maybe the problem is you. Maybe you and Juan Carlos are the reason for all of this! You never leave me alone! Always pressuring, always demanding… and for what?”
“You’ve always helped him before, Camille. I thought you…”
“Thought what?” I asked, my voice rising like a wave about to crash. “Thought I’d still be the same person who’d do anything to please him?”
I saw discomfort in her expression as she tried to remain calm.
“Camille, he’s worried. He wants to know if you’re safe.”
I laughed, but it was a bitter sound, full of sarcasm.
“Worried? He’s never been worried about me, Roberta. Juan Carlos only cares about himself and the power he can lose or gain.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but I didn’t let her.
“You know what’s funny? I lost a baby two weeks ago. What did he do? Sent you here with another request. Not a ‘how is she?’ or ‘does my niece need anything?’ Nothing. Just another damn request!”
My mother was silent, and I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes.
“Camille, I…”
“No, Roberta. You don’t get it. You never did.” My voice trembled now, not from fear, but from built-up anger. “I spent my whole life trying to prove something to him, to you. Trying to be the perfect daughter, the useful daughter. But you know what? It’s over. I’m not playing his power games anymore.”
She froze, unsure of what to say. I took advantage of the silence to get up from the bed, feeling the energy that had seemed to abandon me in the past few days finally return.
“If he wants to know who Javier’s ally is, let him ask him directly. I’m not a spy, I’m not a messenger, and I’m definitely no one’s pawn.”
Roberta stood up, looking insecure. It was rare to see her like this, always so controlled and elegant.
“You really have changed…” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Yes, I’ve changed. And maybe you should change too.” I took a step toward her, my voice lower now but still firm. “Stop being his right hand and start being my mother.”
Roberta stepped toward me, her eyes misty and hesitant, as if she were finally recognizing the depth of the rift between us. When her hand lifted, seeking the comfort of touch, I instinctively stepped back, as if her approach were a real danger.
“Don’t touch me.” My voice was quiet, but full of firmness as I took another step back. “I don’t want to be touched by anyone.”
She froze, her expression reflecting a mix of surprise and pain. It was as if she didn’t understand that, at that moment, the weight of the world on my shoulders was so heavy that even the gentlest gesture seemed unbearable.
“Camille… I just…” she started, but I interrupted her with a hard stare.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” My voice trembled, but I kept my posture. “It’s not just about you, Roberta. It’s about everything. I need space. I need… to breathe.”
Her eyes shone with something close to regret, but I didn’t wait to see her reaction. I turned, walking to the other side of the room, keeping a safe distance between us. There, in the silence that followed, the barrier between us became even more evident.

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