The thoughts of a child are simple. With just a few sweet words, she’d already forgotten her earlier sadness and was now chattering away, excitedly talking about what games she wanted to play next.
Camila Davis watched the scene with a mix of relief and helplessness.
It stung a little, honestly—Dennis Williams seemed to have an even easier time cheering up her daughter than she did. After four years of raising her little princess, Camila couldn’t help feeling like her exclusive bond was starting to slip away.
Dennis clearly caught the look on her face. He chuckled softly and teased, “Are you jealous, Camila?”
Camila stifled a laugh and shook her head. “Of course not! Who could compete with Dr. Williams? You’re a miracle worker—can fix a scraped knee, win over a kid’s heart, and apparently, you’re a pro at bedtime stories, too. I don’t stand a chance.”
Dennis grinned. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
Camila glanced at him—tall, effortlessly handsome in a simple suit, his good looks almost unfair. The way he wore a crisp shirt and slacks made him look both approachable and somehow untouchable all at once.
She found herself zoning out for a second.
Dennis arched an eyebrow and gently brought her back to earth, “Got everything packed? What time’s your flight tomorrow?”
Startled, Camila quickly answered, “Tomorrow morning I have to sign off on the new drug trial, so I’m not sure what time I’ll be done. I booked the evening flight to play it safe. We should land in Cabinda around seven.”
“Alright.” Dennis didn’t rush her. His voice softened, “Try to get some rest. You’ll need your energy.”
“I will,” she promised.
They chatted a bit longer before saying goodnight and hanging up.
Camila’s heart was still racing. The thought of seeing him again tomorrow made her inexplicably giddy, like a teenager with a crush. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and slept soundly through the night.
The next day, after wrapping up the final checks in the lab, Camila met up with Sarah Brown, Susan, and little Lillian for the trip to Cabinda. None of them had much luggage; anything bulky had already been shipped ahead.
While waiting at the airport, Sarah leaned in with the latest gossip from last night’s Smith family engagement party.
“Get this,” she started, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Jordan Smith was so furious last night he passed out and landed himself in the ER. His old knee injury flared up, too—now he can’t even get out of bed. And as for Sandra Taylor and her drama-king son? The family kicked them out, bags and all, in the middle of the night.”


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