Chapter 105: BONUS - : STILL MY MOTHER

Chapter 105: BONUS Chapter: STILL MY MOTHER

MONDAY

10:11 A.M. — CROFT ESTATE

While Aaron Mercer sat in a federal technical facility staring at a folder named NORTHSTAR, Clara was staring at a blueberry pancake.

The pancake was winning.

Gabriel noticed.

"You’ve stabbed it six times."

Clara looked down.

Her fork was, in fact, buried in the center.

"Maybe it knows what it did."

Gabriel drank his coffee.

Across the breakfast room, Allison looked up from her laptop.

Lucian sat beside her with a stack of documents he had brought downstairs despite promising he was not working through breakfast.

He was absolutely working through breakfast.

Allison glanced at Clara.

"Should we be concerned about the pancake?"

"No."

"Should the pancake?"

"Yes."

Lucian turned a page.

"Reasonable."

Clara smiled despite herself.

That was when Gabriel’s phone buzzed.

He checked it.

The smile disappeared from Clara’s face before he said anything.

Gabriel noticed that too.

He set the phone down.

"Daniel Mercer."

Vivienne’s attorney.

Clara put her fork beside the plate.

"What does he want?"

"He says your mother has been approved for a monitored video call if you still want one."

Silence.

Not the bad kind.

Just the kind that needed room.

Allison closed her laptop.

Lucian stopped pretending to read.

Gabriel looked directly at Clara.

"You don’t have to decide right now."

"I already did."

That surprised him.

Clara wiped her hands on her napkin.

"I want to talk to her."

Gabriel’s expression didn’t change.

"Okay."

"But I don’t want everybody there."

"Okay."

Clara looked toward Allison.

Then Lucian.

Then back to Gabriel.

"I want you there."

Gabriel nodded once.

"I’m there."

"And nobody else."

Allison immediately reopened her laptop.

"Done."

Lucian picked up his papers.

"Also done."

Clara blinked.

"That easy?"

Allison looked at her.

"You asked."

Clara’s mouth twitched.

"Right."

Gabriel picked up his phone.

"I’ll tell Daniel."

Clara reached for her pancake again.

Then stopped.

"Dad?"

Gabriel looked up.

It still caught him sometimes.

Not because Clara had never called him that.

Because every time she did, something in his face softened before he could stop it.

"Yeah?"

"Can it be today?"

He checked the message.

"Four-thirty."

Clara nodded.

"Okay."

She stabbed the pancake again.

Allison watched.

"Now what did it do?"

Clara took a bite.

"Nothing. I’m hungry."

"Good."

The conversation moved on.

No one asked whether she was nervous.

No one asked what she planned to say.

No one told her what the call meant.

Theo walked in seven minutes later, stole half a pancake from Allison’s plate, and temporarily became the breakfast room’s largest problem.

Which Clara appreciated.

⸻

1:26 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE

SUNROOM

Clara was supposed to be doing chemistry homework.

Instead, she had written:

NaCl

Then beneath it:

What do you say to your mother after finding out she’s a criminal?

She stared at the page.

Then crossed the second line out so hard the pencil tore through the paper.

"That’s definitely not chemistry."

Clara jumped.

Allison stood in the doorway holding two sodas.

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

"You don’t look sorry."

"I brought bribery."

Allison held up the cans.

Clara moved her books aside.

Allison sat across from her and slid one over.

She did not look at the torn notebook page.

That made Clara look at her.

"You’re not going to ask?"

"No."

"You saw it."

"Yes."

Clara opened the soda.

"You’re getting annoyingly good at that."

"At what?"

"Not asking things."

Allison smiled.

"I’ve had practice."

Clara picked at the tab.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If I talk to her and it’s terrible, does that mean I shouldn’t have done it?"

"No."

Clara looked up.

Allison shrugged.

"It means the call was terrible."

Clara considered that.

"And if it’s good?"

"Then the call was good."

"That doesn’t mean everything’s fixed."

"No."

Clara narrowed her eyes.

"You make things sound very simple."

"They’re not simple."

Allison took a drink.

"But sometimes the answer to one question doesn’t have to answer every other question too."

Clara stared at the bubbles rising inside her soda.

That she could use.

She nodded.

"Okay."

Allison reached for the chemistry book.

"Now explain whatever this is."

Clara looked horrified.

"You don’t know chemistry?"

"I barely know accounting."

"I thought rich people knew everything."

"Absolutely not. We hire people and then nod confidently."

Clara laughed.

From the hallway, Lucian called, "I heard that."

Allison raised her voice.

"Good."

Clara laughed harder.

And chemistry resumed.

⸻

4:22 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE

PRIVATE STUDY

The laptop sat on the desk.

Gabriel checked the connection.

Clara stood by the window.

She had changed clothes twice before deciding that changing clothes for a monitored video call with her incarcerated mother was ridiculous.

So she wore jeans and a sweatshirt.

Her hair was down.

No makeup.

Nothing chosen to communicate anything.

Gabriel looked over.

"Ready?"

"No."

He nodded.

"Okay."

Clara frowned.

"You’re supposed to say I’ll be fine."

"I don’t know if you’ll be fine."

She stared at him.

Gabriel pulled out the chair beside hers.

"But I’ll be here."

Clara’s expression softened.

"That’s better."

At 4:29, the screen changed.

A notice appeared explaining that the call was monitored and could be recorded.

Clara read none of it.

Then the video connected.

Vivienne appeared.

For one second, neither of them moved.

Vivienne looked different.

Not unrecognizable.

Just stripped of the things Clara had always associated with her.

No tailored dress.

No carefully chosen jewelry.

No perfect room behind her.

Her hair was pulled back simply.

Her clothing was plain.

But her posture was still Vivienne.

Straight.

Controlled.

Her eyes found Clara immediately.

"Hello, darling."

Clara’s throat tightened.

"Hi, Mom."

Vivienne closed her eyes.

Only for a second.

When she opened them, the control had returned.

Mostly.

Gabriel sat just outside the camera’s center.

Vivienne noticed him.

"Gabriel."

"Vivienne."

Nothing else.

No challenge.

No history.

Clara was grateful.

Vivienne looked back at her.

"I wasn’t certain you would agree to this."

"I wasn’t either."

"Your attorney said—"

"Mom."

Vivienne stopped.

Clara leaned closer to the screen.

"I don’t want to talk through lawyers."

A pause.

"Of course."

"And I don’t want you to tell me what I should believe."

Vivienne’s expression shifted slightly.

"I understand."

Clara gave her a look.

Vivienne almost smiled.

"All right. I’m trying to understand."

"Better."

Another pause.

Then Vivienne said, "How is school?"

Clara stared.

"Seriously?"

"I don’t know what I’m permitted to ask."

"You’re my mother."

The words came out sharper than Clara intended.

Vivienne went still.

Clara swallowed.

"You can ask about school."

"All right."

Vivienne’s voice was quieter.

"How is school?"

Clara leaned back.

"Annoying."

"That sounds familiar."

"I got an eighty-eight on my chemistry quiz."

Vivienne frowned.

Clara’s mouth fell open.

"Are you serious?"

"You usually score higher."

"You are literally in custody and you’re judging my chemistry grade?"

Gabriel coughed into his fist.

Vivienne’s mouth twitched.

"Perhaps my priorities require adjustment."

"Perhaps."

"Was the test difficult?"

"No."

"Then—"

"Mom."

Vivienne stopped herself.

"Right."

Clara laughed.

It escaped before she could decide whether she wanted it to.

Vivienne heard it.

Something in her face changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

For a few minutes they talked about school.

Maya.

A teacher Clara hated.

The chemistry quiz.

A book she was reading.

Nothing important.

Which somehow made all of it important.

Then the easy subjects ran out.

Vivienne knew it.

Clara knew it.

Gabriel knew it.

Vivienne folded her hands.

"Did you read my letter?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

Vivienne waited.

Clara realized she was waiting for judgment.

So she gave her the truth.

"Some of it made me mad."

Vivienne nodded.

"Some of it sounded like you."

Another nod.

"Some of it sounded like you trying really hard not to sound like you."

That actually made Vivienne laugh.

A small sound.

"That’s probably fair."

Clara looked at her.

"I don’t forgive you."

Vivienne’s smile disappeared.

"I know."

"I still love you."

Her mother’s eyes filled.

Clara continued before Vivienne could speak.

"And those two things are going to have to exist together for a while."

Vivienne looked down.

When she looked back up, she nodded.

"All right."

No argument.

No explanation.

Clara hadn’t expected how much that would matter.

"I don’t want letters every week."

"Okay."

"Maybe once a month."

"All right."

"And I decide whether I answer."

"Yes."

"I don’t want messages sent through random people."

Vivienne’s mouth tightened.

Clara noticed.

"Mom."

"I heard you."

"No Simone. No Allison. No attorneys telling someone to casually mention something to me."

Vivienne sighed.

"I said I heard you."

"I’m making sure."

A tiny smile returned.

"You’re very much my daughter."

Clara rolled her eyes.

"Don’t use that to win."

Vivienne’s smile vanished immediately.

"You’re right."

That surprised Clara.

Vivienne looked directly at her.

"You’re right. I shouldn’t turn your boundaries into proof that you’re like me."

Clara didn’t know what to say to that.

So she nodded.

Vivienne continued.

"Once a month. Through the approved channel. You decide whether to respond."

"Yes."

"And calls?"

Clara thought.

"Not scheduled automatically."

"All right."

"I’ll ask Dad when I want one."

Vivienne’s eyes shifted toward Gabriel.

There was something there.

Pain, perhaps.

Or jealousy.

But when she spoke, she didn’t challenge it.

"Okay."

Gabriel said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

Clara had already made his place clear.

⸻

4:51 P.M.

The call timer appeared in the corner.

9:00 REMAINING

Clara hated it.

A conversation with her mother reduced to a countdown.

Vivienne saw her looking.

"Don’t watch it."

Clara looked back at her.

"You always hated clocks."

"I hate being told when I’m done."

Vivienne’s smile was sad.

"Yes."

They sat quietly.

Then Clara asked the question she had promised herself she wouldn’t.

"Are you okay?"

Gabriel looked at her.

Vivienne did too.

Clara immediately frowned.

"Don’t make that face."

"What face?"

"The one where you’re about to lie because I’m your daughter."

Vivienne inhaled.

Then answered differently.

"No."

Clara’s chest tightened.

"But," Vivienne continued, "I am safe."

Clara nodded.

That was enough information.

She didn’t need details.

Vivienne leaned closer to the screen.

"And you?"

Clara considered lying.

Then didn’t.

"Mostly."

Vivienne nodded.

"Mostly is better than I deserve."

Clara’s expression hardened.

"Don’t do that either."

Vivienne blinked.

"What?"

"Make everything about what you deserve."

Clara sat straighter.

"I’m telling you how I am. Just listen."

Vivienne stared at her daughter.

Then nodded.

"Mostly."

"Yes."

"I heard you."

"Good."

The timer continued.

6:41

Vivienne looked toward Gabriel.

"May I ask you something?"

Gabriel’s eyebrows lifted.

"You can ask."

"Is she happy?"

Clara groaned.

"I’m sitting right here."

Vivienne looked embarrassed.

Gabriel almost smiled.

"Ask her."

Vivienne looked back at Clara.

Clara pointed between them.

"See? This is why he’s my dad."

Vivienne flinched.

Barely.

But Clara saw it.

For a second, guilt rushed in.

Then Vivienne recovered.

"Yes," she said quietly. "He is."

Clara’s eyes widened slightly.

Vivienne looked at Gabriel.

"You are."

Gabriel didn’t gloat.

Didn’t claim victory.

He simply nodded.

"I’m trying."

Vivienne’s gaze returned to Clara.

"That matters."

Something settled between the three of them.

Not peace.

That word was too large.

Maybe placement.

Gabriel was her father.

Vivienne was her mother.

Neither position required the destruction of the other.

Clara looked down at her hands.

"I am happy sometimes."

Vivienne smiled.

"Good."

"And sometimes I’m mad."

"I assumed."

"And sometimes I miss you."

Vivienne’s eyes filled again.

She didn’t say anything.

Good.

Clara didn’t want an answer to that one.

⸻

4:58 P.M.

1:32 REMAINING

Vivienne looked at the timer.

"So."

Clara hated that word.

"So."

Vivienne’s composure slipped for the first time.

"I don’t know how to end this."

Clara swallowed.

"Neither do I."

Gabriel looked away, giving them the privacy he could inside the same room.

Vivienne touched two fingers to the screen.

Clara almost did the same.

Almost.

Instead she smiled.

"Bye, Mom."

Vivienne’s lips trembled.

"Goodbye, Clara."

"Not goodbye-goodbye."

Vivienne froze.

Clara rolled her eyes.

"I said monthly letters."

A tear slipped down Vivienne’s cheek.

She wiped it away.

"Right."

"Pay attention."

"Yes, ma’am."

Clara laughed.

The screen went dark.

For several seconds, she sat there.

Gabriel didn’t move.

Then Clara closed the laptop.

"Well."

Gabriel looked at her.

"Well."

She stood.

"I’m hungry."

He blinked.

"That’s what you have to say?"

"I’ve been stressed since breakfast."

"What do you want?"

"Fries."

Gabriel stood.

"Of course."

They left the study.

⸻

5:17 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE

KITCHEN

Allison was standing at the counter eating strawberries when Clara walked in.

She looked at Clara.

Then at Gabriel.

Then deliberately did not ask.

Clara opened the freezer.

"No fries?"

Allison pointed toward another drawer.

Clara opened it.

"Why do rich people have freezer drawers?"

"Because apparently doors weren’t expensive enough."

Clara pulled out the fries.

Lucian entered from the hallway.

He loosened his tie.

"Why are we cooking?"

"Fries," Clara said.

"That’s not cooking."

Clara gasped.

"Leave."

Lucian looked at Allison.

"Is this my house?"

"Technically several lawyers could answer that."

"Wonderful."

Gabriel leaned against the island.

"I’ll make them."

Clara handed him the bag.

"You burn them."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

Allison reached for the bag.

"I can make fries."

Lucian stared at her.

"You burned toast yesterday."

"That was one time."

"The smoke alarm disagrees."

Clara looked between them.

"Do any of you know how to feed yourselves?"

Gabriel took the fries back.

"Apparently I’m still the best option."

"Terrifying."

He started preheating the oven.

Lucian opened the refrigerator.

"There’s leftover pasta."

Clara looked inside.

"That works."

Five minutes later, they were all standing around the island eating reheated pasta because nobody had the patience to wait for fries.

It was Lucian who finally asked.

Not about the call.

About something else.

"Clara."

She looked at him.

"Your school has that parent dinner next month, right?"

Clara’s fork stopped.

Gabriel glanced at him.

Lucian continued carefully.

"Gabriel mentioned it last week."

"Oh."

Clara looked at her father.

"You remembered?"

Gabriel looked offended.

"Of course I remembered."

"You forgot picture day."

"One mistake."

"You forgot twice."

"One recurring mistake."

Allison laughed.

Clara smiled.

Then Lucian said, "I wanted to ask before invitations become a thing."

Clara waited.

"If there are school events, birthdays, graduations, college tours eventually—whatever comes next—you don’t have to wonder whether Allison and I want to be there."

Clara’s expression changed.

Lucian didn’t continue with a speech.

He simply added:

"We do."

Allison nodded.

"Very much."

Clara looked toward Gabriel.

He smiled.

"I’m not territorial."

Lucian raised an eyebrow.

Gabriel amended, "About them."

"Comforting."

Clara laughed.

Then she looked between Allison and Lucian.

"So what are you?"

Allison blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"To me."

That shut everyone up.

Clara pointed at Gabriel.

"That’s Dad."

Gabriel smiled.

She pointed vaguely toward the rest of the house.

"Everybody else has some title. Uncle Roman. Grandma Susanna. Grandpa Adrian. Theo is..."

"Devastatingly handsome," Theo said from the doorway.

Everyone jumped.

Clara groaned.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to hear my cue."

Simone appeared behind him.

"There was no cue."

Theo ignored her.

Clara pointed.

"See? Whatever that is."

"Uncle Theo," he said.

"No."

His face fell.

Allison laughed.

Clara turned back toward her.

"But you and Lucian are just Allison and Lucian."

Allison considered that.

"You can keep calling us Allison and Lucian."

"I know."

Clara frowned.

"That wasn’t my question."

Gabriel watched quietly.

Lucian leaned against the counter.

"What do you want us to be?"

Clara thought about it.

Not replacements.

She didn’t need replacements.

She had a father.

And she had a mother, complicated as that was.

But Allison had sat beside her without telling her what to think.

Lucian had shown up without demanding a title for it.

They were there.

Consistently.

Maybe that could be enough.

"I don’t know yet."

Allison smiled.

"Then we don’t need a name yet."

Clara looked at her.

"But you’re staying?"

Lucian answered first.

"Yes."

Simple.

Allison nodded.

"That’s the part we know."

Clara’s mouth trembled slightly.

She covered it by taking another bite of pasta.

Theo ruined the moment exactly when it needed ruining.

"So we’re all agreed I’m Uncle Theo?"

"No," five people said at once.

Simone laughed so hard she had to grab the counter.

⸻

7:36 P.M. — CROFT ESTATE

FRONT STEPS

Gabriel and Clara were leaving.

Clara had her backpack over one shoulder and a container of food Allison had forced on them.

Gabriel had the fries.

They had eventually made them.

Lucian stood at the door.

Allison came down the steps with Clara.

"You good?"

Clara nodded.

Then paused.

"I think so."

Allison accepted the answer.

Clara looked back toward the house.

"Can I come Saturday?"

Allison frowned.

"You’re asking?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because normal people ask before invading houses."

"You have a bedroom here."

Clara stared at her.

"I do?"

Allison froze.

Gabriel covered his mouth.

Lucian looked away.

Allison recovered badly.

"I mean—not officially. There is a room you usually use."

Clara narrowed her eyes.

"You made me a room?"

"No."

Lucian spoke from behind them.

"She absolutely made you a room."

Allison turned.

"Traitor."

Clara laughed.

"What’s in it?"

"Nothing weird."

Lucian answered.

"She bought six pillows."

"Why?"

Allison looked defensive.

"They looked comfortable."

Clara stared.

"Six?"

"Some are decorative."

"That makes it worse."

Gabriel opened the car door.

"Come on."

Clara hugged Allison quickly.

Then stepped back.

She looked toward Lucian.

He gave her a small wave.

Clara hesitated.

Then walked back up the steps and hugged him too.

Lucian froze for half a second.

Then hugged her back.

Not tightly.

Not possessively.

Just there.

Clara pulled away.

"Saturday."

Allison smiled.

"Saturday."

Clara got into the car.

Gabriel closed the door.

Before walking around to the driver’s side, he looked at Allison and Lucian.

"Thank you."

Allison shook her head.

"You don’t have to—"

"I know."

That stopped her.

Gabriel smiled.

"I’m still saying it."

Lucian nodded.

"Then you’re welcome."

Gabriel got into the car.

They drove away.

⸻

8:03 P.M. — GABRIEL’S HOUSE

Clara dropped her backpack by the stairs.

Her phone buzzed.

An email.

She opened it.

The sender was the approved legal communication portal.

No message from Vivienne.

Not yet.

Just confirmation.

AUTHORIZED CORRESPONDENCE SCHEDULE: MONTHLY

Clara stared at it.

Then opened her laptop.

The document titled Mine was still there.

She clicked it.

Three lines waited.

My mother is Vivienne Laurent-Cassel.

She loved me.

She hurt people.

Clara read them.

Then added:

She is responsible for what she did.

She paused.

Another line.

I am allowed to love her without defending her.

Then:

Dad is Dad. Nobody is replacing him.

She smiled slightly.

One more.

Allison and Lucian don’t need a title yet. They just keep showing up.

Clara read the page.

No argument.

No explanation.

No attempt to make the sentences agree with one another.

They didn’t need to.

She saved the document.

Closed the laptop.

Then went downstairs because Gabriel had burned the second batch of fries.

Again.

"Dad!"

"What?"

"They’re black!"

"They’re crispy!"

"They’re charcoal!"

"That’s dramatic."

Clara walked into the kitchen holding one between two fingers.

"This could survive a nuclear event."

Gabriel stared at it.

"Okay. Maybe slightly overdone."

"Slightly?"

He grabbed his phone.

"Pizza?"

Clara smiled.

"Pizza."

Gabriel opened the delivery app.

"Pineapple?"

Clara looked horrified.

"Absolutely not."

"Thank God."

And that was how the night ended.

Not with Vivienne.

Not with court.

Not with anyone deciding what Clara’s family was supposed to look like.

Just Clara arguing with her father about pizza while her mother’s first monthly letter remained somewhere in the future.

Vivienne was still her mother.

Gabriel was her father.

Allison and Lucian were something else—something chosen, steady, and still becoming.

There was room for all three truths.

Clara didn’t need another name for them tonight.

⸻

TUESDAY

8:16 A.M. — FEDERAL TECHNICAL FACILITY

The Northstar folder had been preserved overnight.

No one had opened it.

Not Aaron.

Not Reeves.

Not the technicians.

Not without the full team present.

At 8:16 Tuesday morning, Rebecca Sloan entered the secure room carrying coffee and one expression.

Suspicion.

Aaron was already seated across from the isolated workstation.

She stopped.

"You’re early."

"I was told not to touch anything."

"That wasn’t permission to stare at it."

"I find staring legally distinct from touching."

"Unfortunately, you’re correct."

Reeves entered behind her.

The technician sat at the terminal.

On the screen:

NORTHSTAR

Rebecca placed her coffee down.

"Before anyone opens that folder, we’re establishing chain of custody and scope."

Reeves nodded.

"Agreed."

Aaron stared at the name.

Twenty years old.

Buried inside a system he had built.

A folder he had never created.

And somewhere outside this room, investigators were already examining a company with the same name connected to a payment made three days before Susanna disappeared.

Rebecca looked at Aaron.

"Ready?"

This time, he didn’t answer immediately.

Then:

"Yes."

The technician moved the cursor.

Clicked once.

And Northstar opened.