Camila's POV
Anthony was finally my boyfriend.
Well, finally might've been a bit of an overstatement. I'd only known him for a couple of weeks, and we barely knew anything about each other. But still… he cared for me. He ran out into the pouring rain to get Kitty, then stayed with me. He even took me to the hospital after everything that happened—more than anyone else had ever done for me, besides my mom.
Right now, he was out feeding Kitty. He had cleaned up the yard, fixed the broken fence near the pasture after the hospital visit, and spent his days going back and forth between his estate and mine. Thankfully, they weren't too far apart. The river near the creek had flooded a bit, but nothing serious. A few days had passed quickly.
That morning, Anthony made breakfast before heading down to the pasture to feed Kitty, then planned to stop by his house to feed his dog, Prince. That's when I got a message from Mom—she would be home in two days! I was so happy. I had missed her a lot. Because of the storm, her trip had been extended by three days.
There wasn't much cleaning left to do—thanks to Anthony—so I decided to take a nap until he got back.
Anthony's POV
I got up early and got everything ready—breakfast for Camila, and helped her change her bandage. It was healing well. It wouldn't be long before she was running around again… and falling out of trees.
I made sure she ate, then went out to feed Kitty. After that, I headed home to feed Prince. As I pulled back into Camila's estate, I noticed a van parked in the driveway. I felt a moment of concern, but then recognized the woman pulling bags from the trunk. It was Camila's mom.
I recognized her from the family photos in the house. I hadn't met her in person yet. She was half my size, but had a presence—stern, but beautiful. She looked to be around forty, but my mom always taught me never to ask or assume a woman's age.
I hesitated for only a second before jogging up to help her. She looked at me skeptically at first, but I introduced myself, and she admitted that Camila had told her about me. I carried her bags inside, and we walked into the living room to find Camila curled up asleep, with snacks and orange juice on the table. For a girl her size, she could really eat.
Her mom kissed her on the head, and I made lunch for us. We started talking, and I quickly realized how funny and interesting she was. I began to understand where Camila got her beauty and sharp sense of humor. Of course, she gave me the classic motherly warning—something about breaking her daughter's heart. I told her, "Yes, ma'am," and stood at attention. She smirked.
Then she surprised me—she admitted she'd actually been home in the country for the past two days. She'd come by in secret and saw how well I'd taken care of Camila, Kitty, and even the fence. She asked about my future plans, and I told her about wanting to stay in culinary school, even though my father wanted me to take over the company. I explained my background in finance, and she nodded with quiet understanding but didn't say much.
She was easy to talk to. Talking to her almost felt like talking to my mom again—which, I know, sounds ridiculous. We kept chatting and eventually moved our conversation to Kitty's stable so we wouldn't wake Camila. We talked about Camila being stubborn and strong-willed, about how straightforward she was, and—embarrassingly—I told her I had seen Camila fall out of that apple tree by the creek. I also admitted how beautiful I thought she was.
I complimented her mom, too, and she laughed. That's when she gave me a nickname—a pet name from her childhood. She said I reminded her of a golden retriever she once had: "Sunnyboy." Loyal, sweet, and always trying to please. I told her she was still young herself, and she laughed again.
On our walk back to the house, I noticed Camila standing outside. The moment she saw her mom, she hobbled—well, something between a hobble and a run—straight into her arms. Her mom hugged her tightly, and I decided to leave them to it. She waved me off with a warm "bye," and I gave Camila a soft kiss on the top of her head before heading home.
Unsurprisingly, my dad wasn't there. Not yet, anyway. Wherever he was, he could stay there.
He had texted me, saying he was glad the house was okay and that it was "cool" I wasn't in trouble. He mentioned extending his meetings, despite the storm that had shaken our town. Apparently, the area he was in hadn't been affected. He said it was a "great opportunity" to expand the business and that we'd talk next month when he got home.
What a joke.
He didn't care. He only wanted to make sure his money wasn't bothered. Mom was right—money was the love of his life. We were just accessories. For the longest time, I thought Mom was just bitter about the divorce and the affair that ruined everything. I used to think her sadness came from heartbreak.
But now I saw it clearly. She wasn't broken—she was right. I was only now understanding the full extent of who my father really was.
Camila's mom was home. I was back home. My dad was absent. And school was reopening in two weeks.
And just like that, everything was back to how it was
Normal