Chapter 2 - The Letter Camille Never Asked For
Vanessa did not hug Camille.
That bothered Owen before she even opened her mouth.
Camille was on the porch swing, her cast long gone but her shoulders still tense in ways they had never been before the accident. She had been sketching when Vanessa arrived. The girl looked up, uncertain, then glanced automatically toward her father, as though checking whether this was a safe visit.
Vanessa smiled too brightly.
“I’m here to help.”
Owen stepped down from the porch.
“With what?”
“With what happened to Camille.”
He looked at the envelope.
“Why is there a lawyer’s name on that?”
Vanessa’s expression sharpened, though her voice stayed gentle.
“Because somebody needs to protect her interests.”
Camille lowered her sketchbook.
“Aunt Vanessa?”
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Vanessa walked closer and held out the envelope. “This is only paperwork.”
Owen took it before Camille could.
The letterhead belonged to Calder & Roane Injury and Family Law.
He scanned the first paragraph once, then twice.
The document stated that Vanessa Bell, as maternal aunt and concerned family representative, had retained counsel regarding “the physical and psychological injuries suffered by minor Camille Hale, including additional trauma and bodily harm resulting from the force used during the rescue performed by Owen Hale.”
Owen looked up slowly.
“What is this?”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“It’s a notice that you shouldn’t be making decisions alone.”
“I saved her life.”
“You also tackled her into a fence hard enough to fracture her wrist.”
Camille’s eyes widened.
Owen lowered the pages before she could read more.
“Go inside, honey.”
“No,” Vanessa said quickly. “She should hear this. It’s about her.”
Owen’s jaw tightened.
“Inside, Camille.”
She went, but not before looking back with a face so confused it made his chest ache.
When the door shut, Vanessa exhaled as if she had been waiting for privacy.
“You know Camille still wakes up screaming, right?”
“I take her to therapy every Thursday. I know exactly how she sleeps.”
“And does the therapist know you were the one who put your hands on her?”
Owen stared at her.
“She would be dead if I hadn’t.”
Vanessa raised one shoulder.
“Or maybe less injured if you’d been more careful.”
That was the first time he truly understood what was happening.
This was not sympathy.
This was positioning.
“What do you want?”
“A formal role in her claim. Temporary authority over legal and financial decisions connected to the accident. Somebody has to make sure you don’t protect yourself at her expense.”
Owen laughed once.
It came out without humor.
“You think I’m the problem?”
Vanessa’s eyes shifted briefly toward the house.
Then she said something that didn’t fit.
“Nora left safeguards for a reason.”
Nora.
His wife.
Dead six years.
May you like
Owen went still.
Because the moment Vanessa mentioned his wife’s estate, he knew this was about more than the truck.
