Chapter 6 - THE LIAR SHE WAS BUILDING
The preschool director emailed everything.
Three messages from Camille.
Could staff document Mia’s “increasing tendency to fabricate stories”?
Had anyone observed “self-injurious tantrums”?
Could they note “obsessive fixation on her deceased biological mother”?
Biological mother.
Natalie was not a category.
She was Mia’s mother.
The director had refused to create reports unsupported by observation.
Instead, staff notes described Mia as quiet, affectionate, and occasionally tearful when other children talked about mothers.
Normal grief.
Normal confusion.
Nothing resembling Camille’s claims.
That changed what I believed.
The birthday lie had not been improvised.
She did it herself.
She’s lying to you again.
Camille had been preparing that sentence.
I searched my messages.
Suddenly I found examples everywhere.
Mia has been dramatic today.
She scratched herself again.
She tells strange stories when she misses Natalie.
I had responded with hearts.
Thanks for handling it.
I stared at those words until they blurred.
Camille had been sending me warnings disguised as updates.
I had rewarded her for managing them.
Rebecca sat beside me.
“You didn’t know.”
“I didn’t look.”
“That’s different.”
“Not to Mia.”
I wasn’t interested in forgiveness yet.
I was interested in facts.
We met with a child psychologist experienced with very young children.
She warned us not to interrogate Mia repeatedly.
No leading questions.
No asking her to recreate events.
Preserve recordings.
Document spontaneous statements.
Protect her.
Let professionals handle the rest.
That mattered because I wanted answers immediately.
But wanting answers could damage the truth.
So I stopped asking Mia what Camille had done.
Instead, when she said something on her own, I wrote the exact words.
That evening she touched her upper arm.
“Camille squeezes when bad.”
Rebecca and I exchanged a glance.
I wrote it down.
Then Mia asked for Natalie.
We looked through an old photo album.
On one picture, Natalie stood beside me at a lake, pregnant with Mia.
Mia smiled.
Then she suddenly pointed past her mother.
“Camille.”
I looked closer.
Camille was in the background.
My stomach tightened.
I had forgotten she was at that picnic.
Camille had known Natalie.
Not well, I thought.
She had worked with my sister on a charity committee.
After Natalie died, Camille reached out to offer help.
At least that was how I remembered it.
Rebecca frowned at the photograph.
“She was around more than you think.”
“What does that mean?”
“She asked about Natalie constantly after the accident.”
I stared at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought she was being supportive.”
Another assumption.
Then Rebecca remembered something else.
Three weeks after Natalie died, Camille had asked whether the trucking company settlement would “take care of Mia forever.”
At the time, Rebecca thought it was sympathy.
May you like
Now neither of us did.
📖 Camille had been asking about Mia’s money before we ever dated, and the next recording would show she had also been asking questions about Natalie. 👇
