Nathan laughed. “He seemed like the only decent one in the bunch. Recognized your title immediately and showed appropriate respect.”
“I noticed that too,” I admitted. “Maybe Allison made a better choice than I gave her credit for.” My phone buzzed with an incoming text.
I expected it to be work-related, but instead saw my cousin Emma’s name. OMG, the family is in complete meltdown after you left. Your dad keeps saying there must be a mistake.
Your mom is weirdly quiet. Allison has locked herself in the bridal suite. Also, I Googled your husband and holy crap.
Also, also, I’m sorry they treated you like garbage all these years. Drink sometime. Signed, your new favorite cousin.
I showed the message to Nathan, who raised an eyebrow. “New favorite cousin.” “She was kind to me after the fountain incident,” I explained.
“Before you arrived, she offered me a spare dress and helped me avoid the crowd. Small kindness, but it stood out.”
“Sometimes allies come from unexpected places,” he observed. Over the next hour, my phone lit up with messages from family members who had never bothered to call me before.
Distant aunts suddenly remembered my birthday. Second cousins inquired about lunch dates. My father sent a stiffly formal text stating that we should discuss recent developments at your earliest convenience.
I silenced the phone and set it aside. Those responses could wait. “They’re not reaching out to me,” I told Nathan as we prepared for bed.
“They’re reaching out to Director Campbell, wife of billionaire Nathan Reed, not to the person I actually am.” “Does that surprise you?” he asked gently.
“No,” I admitted, “but it does clarify things.” As I drifted towards sleep in the safety of our home, I realized that the day’s events hadn’t given me a family. I’d had one all along.
Nathan, my trusted team at the bureau, friends who valued me for myself, the family I’d chosen rather than the one I was born into, and that I was discovering made all the difference. Three weeks after my sister’s wedding, Nathan and I sat in our favorite corner of Thinking Cup Café on Newbury Street.
Despite our combined net worth and status, we enjoyed these small moments of normalcy. Good coffee, quiet conversation. And people watching in a place where we weren’t immediately recognized.
“Your mother called again yesterday,” Nathan mentioned, stirring his Americano. “That’s the third time this week.” I nodded, watching pedestrians hurry past the window.
The Boston fall had painted the trees along Commonwealth Avenue in brilliant reds and golds. She left another voicemail. Invited us to Sunday dinner.
“Are you considering it?” His tone was neutral, offering neither encouragement nor discouragement. “I’m not sure,” I admitted.
Part of me thinks it’s just damage control. The Campbell family image took quite a hit when word got around about what happened at the wedding. The story had indeed circulated rapidly through Boston’s upper social circles.
My father’s law firm partners had expressed concern about his judgment. My mother had been quietly removed from the chairperson position of her beloved charity board. Apparently, publicly humiliating your FBI director daughter and alienating your billionaire son-in-law was bad for business and social standing.
“And the other part?” Nathan prompted. I sighed, tracing the rim of my mug. The other part wonders if this might be the first genuine interest they’ve ever shown in knowing me.
The real me, not their projection. The weeks following the wedding had brought an avalanche of family communication, emails, texts, calls, even handwritten letters. My father alternated between defensive justifications and awkward attempts at reconciliation.
My mother was more directly apologetic, though still threaded with hints that I should have told them about my important position sooner. Allison had sent a single text from her honeymoon. “We need to talk when I’m back.”
Nothing more. The most surprising development had been my growing friendship with Emma, Bradford’s step-cousin. True to her word, we’d met for drinks, where she’d confessed to always feeling like an outsider in the Wellington family, a sentiment I understood all too well.
Her genuine interest in my work, what I could share of it, and her complete lack of agenda was refreshing. “I’ve been thinking about something Dr. Chin said in therapy last week,” I told Nathan, referring to the counselor I’d started seeing to process my family dynamics, about how setting boundaries isn’t about punishing others, but protecting yourself.
Nathan nodded. “I like that distinction.” “I think I can have some form of relationship with my family,” I continued, working through my thoughts aloud.
But it needs to be on new terms. No more diminishing, no more comparisons, no more accepting disrespect to keep the peace. “That sounds healthy,” Nathan agreed.
“And if they can’t meet those terms, then I continue building my life with the people who can,” I said simply. “You, my friends, my colleagues, the family I’ve chosen.” My phone buzzed with an incoming call.
Marcus, my second in command at the bureau, I answered immediately. “We’ve got movement on the Richardson case,” he said without preamble. “Surveillance picked up a meeting at the specified location.
Team is in position.” “I’ll be there in 20,” I replied, already gathering my things. Nathan was doing the same, accustomed to our interruptions.
“Need a ride?” he asked as we stepped onto the busy sidewalk. “My meeting at MIT isn’t for another hour.”