The Shells We Shared, Now Washed Away

Camille's POV

Kemp gave me a sidelong glance, his voice calm and detached. “Camille, Wendy and I are getting married soon. Whatever we had, it’s long gone.”

Uninterested in their drama, I didn't bother to reply. I just turned and headed toward the elevator.

That was when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Just as I reached for it, the waiter snatched it from my hand.

He turned it over suspiciously, eyeing the latest iPhone model with clear contempt. “A phone like this? There’s no way you could afford it. Did you steal it or something?”

I froze, fury bubbling in my chest. I held it in and said slowly, word by word, “That’s. My. Phone.”

Wendy let out a small, mocking laugh, clearly enjoying the show, then gestured to the waiter. “Well, if it’s really yours, then unlock it and prove it.”

I tried fingerprint recognition, but the mud on my hands made it fail. Then I attempted face unlock, but my messy hair kept covering the camera.

I was just about to type in the password when the hotel manager appeared. Without hesitation, he grabbed the phone from the waiter.

“Send it to the front desk and have them check with the guests to see if anyone reported a missing phone,” he said firmly. Then, turning to security, he ordered, “Call the police now.”

Just as the guard reached for his radio, Kemp suddenly spoke up. “Wait. For my sake, let’s just let this go.”

Wendy quickly chimed in, playing the voice of reason. “I’m a lawyer. Stealing a phone of that value can land you at least two years in prison. But clearly,” she glanced at me dramatically, “she’s not in the right mental state. Maybe it was just a moment of confusion—”

“I didn’t steal anything,” I cut her off. “And since you’re a lawyer, you should know false accusations can get you two years too.”

The hotel manager’s face darkened, and he became even more resolute than ever. He signaled the guards to restrain me, then picked up his phone to call the police.

Just then, the elevator doors opened with a soft ding.

A small boy, no older than three, stood inside, his cheeks streaked with tears. The moment he saw me, his little arms reached out and he ran toward me crying.

I crouched down and held out the bag of seashells I’d found for him, but before he could take them, Wendy suddenly slapped them out of my hands.

“Camille! Are you out of your mind? Trying to abduct a child in front of everyone?!”

The boy was startled and burst into loud sobs.

Wendy immediately scooped him into her arms, her voice soft and coaxing. “She’s a bad woman, sweetie. I’ll take you to find your real mommy, okay?”

But my son thrashed in her arms, crying harder. “No! I want Mommy! I want Mommy!”

My heart twisted at the sight of his tear-stained face.

“Let go of my son!” I shouted, fighting to break free.

But the security guards held me down tightly, not letting me move an inch.

Around us, whispers turned into cruel ridicule.

“Crazy woman! Sees a random kid and calls him her son. Someone call the cops!”

“She’s clearly unstable! What if she hurts someone next time?!”

“Mama… Mama…” His tiny hands reached toward me, his voice hoarse from crying.

I forced down the lump in my throat and tried to sound calm, even while struggling. “Don’t cry, baby. Mommy found your seashells. I’m coming, okay?”

Just as our fingers were about to touch, a guard suddenly yanked my arms behind my back and began tying me up roughly.

Then, Kemp let out a deep sigh. He stepped forward, pulled me out of the guard’s grip, and said flatly, “I’ll handle this. Wait for me outside. Once the investor meeting is over, I’ll come and find you.”

He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the exit.

“Let go of me!” I cried. “Kemp, don’t make me hate you!”

I kept looking back. My son was still in Wendy’s arms, sobbing quietly, his lips trembling with confusion and fear.

But Kemp ignored me completely, pulling me along like none of it mattered.

Just then, the elevator doors slid open again, and a tall figure stepped out.

A perfectly tailored beige suit outlined his tall, lean frame, and every movement he made radiated effortless authority and elegance.

The moment he stepped out, the room fell silent.

“Mr. Smith,” everyone greeted respectfully.

I met those deep, piercing eyes, and tears welled up in mine.