Soline: Bride of Shadows – Chapter 8: I Miss My Mom

I miss my mom, I miss her so much. The last time I saw her, I was six years old. I never saw her again. And now I never will.

That single sentence — I miss my mom — was about to unravel everything Camille had buried.

I ache for her scent, for the way she used to stroke my hair, for the way she’d hug me and call me her daughter. But… but I’ll never see her again, Camille said, sobbing.

They say the world is a world of hope. That hope came from Ali.

You miss your mother that much? What if seeing her again were possible?

A Chaotic Morning

It’s Thursday. My university friends — fellow archaeology students — have been visiting from their home countries for a week now. We’ve turned the house upside down. Nicole from America, Chloé from France, and Camille and Liv from Belgium.

My mom raised the roof, telling me I was old enough to be giving her grandchildren and still wrecking the house like a kid. She scolded me first thing in the morning. The girls and I just laughed at ourselves.

“Mooom, where’s Ali? He’s nowhere around — did he go home?” I shouted.

My mother — oh, my sweet mother — was in one of her moods today.

“Why are you yelling? Ali’s in the garden. Unlike you lazy bones, he was up before sunrise,” she said.

Camille called out to me, laughing, “Soline, don’t make your mom mad — she’ll grab that slipper and chase us all down.”

We made the beds together and got started on breakfast.

That’s when Ali came in for tea. I was feeling restless today for some reason, so I went after him instead.

“Hey handsome, how are you this morning?” I said, pinching both his cheeks. Ali never let anything slide.

“Don’t get cheeky this early, kitten. Why so clingy?” he said.

The girls burst out laughing.

“Why are you complaining? Aren’t you my great love? Of course I’m going to pinch your cheeks,” I told him.

Ali turned to my mother. “For heaven’s sake, when are we marrying this one off? Isn’t there some lame, one-eyed groom out there somewhere? Let’s get her married before she becomes our permanent problem.”

“I’ll never back down. I’m never getting married — I’m staying by your side forever,” I said.

Ali laughed. “Well then, Madame Béatrice, I guess I’m doomed. My whole life will be one long lesson in patience.”

The girls giggled at the two of us.

My mother turned to them. “Don’t mind these two, they’re always like this. Soline is my cross to bear — thank God Ali knows how to manage her.”

I pouted and leaned into my mother’s shoulder. “Oh, are you sick of me too?”

My darling mother could never stay upset with me. She pulled me in and kissed my cheeks.

“How could I ever be done with you, sweetheart? You’re my whole world,” she said.

The Moment Camille Said:I Miss My Mom

While my mother and I carried on with our little show of affection, Camille had gone quiet with grief. We were caught up in our own fun, but Ali — as always — was watching everyone. He noticed the shift in Camille‘s mood and signaled for us to check on her.

“What’s wrong, Camille? Did something happen? Did I upset you?” I asked.

Camille shook her head. “No, Soline, it’s just — watching you and your mother like that, so close, so easy with each other — it got to me. It made me think of my own mother. I miss her so much,” she said.

We were all stunned. It had only been a week since she’d left her mother back home. “Let’s book you a flight,” I said. “Go see her if you miss her that much.”

Camille hesitated for a long moment. Her voice trembled as she tried to speak, but nothing came out — until finally, all she managed was:

“I don’t have a home. I don’t have a mother anymore.”

We were speechless. I thought, but her parents are in Belgium — they just have some distance between them, that’s all.

“Camille, what do you mean, no home, no mother? What does that mean?” I asked.

Camille let out a shaky breath, tears overtaking her. She couldn’t speak.

That’s when Ali broke the silence.

“She’s not Camille’s real mother. Her real mother passed away a long time ago.”

My jaw dropped. Ali had just met Camille — how could he possibly know that?

“Camille, is that true?” I asked.

Camille stared at Ali, stunned, her mouth still open. She finally composed herself. “Yes, it’s true. But Ali, how do you know that? No one knows that,” she said.

Ali answered calmly. “No one needs to tell me. It’s written in your eyes. The way you looked at Soline and her mother, Madame Béatrice — it said everything.”

My mother looked embarrassed, suddenly self-conscious about how affectionately she’d been holding me in front of Camille.

We waited, hoping Camille would open up, but she said nothing. Just silence.

Ali stepped in to help her let it out.

“Do you miss your mother that much? How old were you the last time you saw her? Would you like to see her again?” he asked.

We were shocked. What was Ali even saying? How could someone who’d passed away be seen again?

Camille, still crying, suddenly began to smile. She answered Ali with something like joy.

“Yes — I miss her scent so much. I remember her face like a dream. But Ali, how would that even work? You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“Camille, I don’t joke about things like this. You’ve never once seen her in your dreams all these years, have you? What if you could — what if she came to you, held you, kissed you, and you could smell her again…”

Camille let out a cry of joy and threw her arms around Ali’s neck. Am I imagining it, or is she completely infatuated with him? I thought to myself.

“Camille, since you want this so badly, I’ll show you how. But first, let it out. Tell us everything,” Ali said.

The Story Behind Why I Miss My Mom

Camille went quiet for a while, staring out at the sea.

Ali struck the spark that got her talking.

“You remember how she used to kiss your forehead when she tucked you in at night, don’t you? Did her scent remind you of roses?”

The words brought Camille back to life.

“You’re such a strange person — how do you even know that? Yes, that’s one of the last things I remember. She’d kiss my forehead and tuck me in. Her scent was one of a kind — I’ve never come across anything like it since.”

“Then I remember the fights with my father. I remember him throwing my mother out of the house. My mother crying, holding on to me, refusing to let go. My father kicking her to the ground. The police coming and dragging her away…”

Camille took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

“That was the last time I saw my mother. My father burned every photo of her in the house. He didn’t want me to remember her face — he wanted to erase her from our lives completely.”

“He remarried within a year. That’s when my exile began. First I was sent to live with my grandmother — I stayed there a year. Then I was sent to Switzerland, to my aunt.”

“My father’s family was wealthy and powerful. They did everything they could to make sure my mother could never find me.”

“My aunt was a full-blown alcoholic. Men were always coming and going from her house — she changed boyfriends almost every month.”

“By then I was ten. The way her boyfriends looked at me started to make me uncomfortable.”

“I was allowed to use the computer at home. One day, browsing online, I found a news article about an accident in Brussels. My mother’s name was there, in small print: the death of a woman with no family.”

Camille‘s hands began to shake. “You don’t have to keep going if it’s too painful,” I said.

Ali cut in. “Let her speak. Let it all out.”

None of us could find the words.

“I looked into it for a long time. I even found out where she was buried. Money was never an issue — my father’s family was wealthy, so was my aunt. There was money everywhere. I researched how to get to Brussels.”

“One day, while my aunt was in her bedroom with her boyfriend, I left the house and got on a train for Brussels,” she said.

“Wait — you traveled alone, from one country to another?” Nicole asked.

Liv chimed in. “Not one country — three. If you’re taking the train, you start in Switzerland, pass through Cologne in Germany, and then on to Belgium.”

Danger on the Train

“On the train, a young man — maybe eighteen — noticed I was traveling alone, hiding from the conductor. He held a knife to my throat and demanded all my money. I was about to pass out from fear. I gave him everything,” Camille said.

We all froze. None of us could speak.

Ali said gently, “Camille, go wash your face in the bathroom, take a moment.” Camille did exactly as he said, without any argument — she always did.

While she was gone, we started talking among ourselves. What has this girl been through? None of us had ever known this side of her — she never talked about herself.

When she came back, she reached for one of Ali’s cigarettes and lit it, her hands still shaking. Camille had never smoked before in her life. She didn’t even drink.

“Once my money was gone, I couldn’t eat. I was on the verge of collapsing from hunger, but I had to reach my mother’s grave. She couldn’t come to me — so I had to go to her,” she said, her voice trembling.

A Miracle at the Cemetery

“I finally made it to the cemetery. I was looking for her, but how would I even find her? If I asked the staff, they’d know I was a lone child and call my father.”

“I wandered through the cemetery, staring at gravestone after gravestone. I got lost. Then a red headstone caught my eye — one with a crescent moon and star on it.”

“I was just standing there, staring blankly, when an old man approached. He said something in a language I didn’t understand, gently stroking my hair. It turned out he was speaking Turkish. When he realized I didn’t understand, he switched to French.”

“I was wary at first, but his face was so full of peace, so kind. I told him I was looking for my mother’s grave. He asked for her name. When I said it, he stopped for a moment, then began to cry, and pulled me into a tight embrace, kissing my forehead.”

“My dear — are you her daughter? Are you Camille?” he asked.

“I was stunned. How did he know me? I said yes, hesitantly.”

“Your mother was such a blessed woman. Everyone loved her,” he said. He took my hand and led me to her grave.

Camille paused for a moment, then continued.

“When we reached her grave, I called out to her. ‘Mom, you never came — look, I came to you instead,’ I said, and I collapsed onto the grave, crying. I don’t know how long I stayed like that.”

“When I finally lifted my head, there were people gathered all around the grave, their hands open in prayer. The old man was crying too, moved by what he was seeing.”

“I don’t remember what happened after that — I must have fainted from hunger. When I opened my eyes, I was in a house I didn’t recognize, but it felt peaceful, and it smelled wonderful. There were so many people there.”

“Children were running around the house. Women I didn’t know kept coming up to hug and kiss me, smiling. I had no idea who any of them were.”

“The old man came back. He seemed relieved I’d come to. I asked him, confused — where was I, who were all these people?”

“They’re all your mother’s friends. Your mother was so loved — she talked about you all the time,” he said.

“He brought out her belongings and handed them to me. Among them was a photo — one of her and me together. I had finally seen my mother’s face. I kissed the photo and cried.”

“Then the old man told me my mother had always looked after children who weren’t her own. On the day of the accident, a car had hit one of those children — my mother saved him, but couldn’t save herself.”

“They notified my father. He came and took me away.”

“But he threw away all of her belongings. He tore up that last photo too,” Camille said, her voice breaking.

A Silence Ali Broke

My mother opened her arms and pulled Camille into a tight embrace.

None of us could speak after hearing all that. We all wrapped our arms around Camille. A deep silence settled over the room.

Ali broke it.

“Camille, I’m going to tell you what you need to do to see your mother in your dream tonight. Listen closely, and do exactly as I say. What you’ll see tonight is both a dream — and not a dream.”

We were all confused. What did that even mean? Something is either a dream or it isn’t. Ali offered no explanation — he simply told Camille what to do.

By the early hours of the morning, we had all drifted off to sleep.

A scream tore through the night and woke every one of us.

“Mom! Mom! Please don’t go — I wasn’t done with you!”

It was Camille, crying out. We rushed to her room in a panic.

Ali was sitting outside in the garden, silently watching the sea. He hadn’t slept at all. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

“Camille, what’s wrong? Why were you screaming?” I asked.

“Soline — my mother came. My mother kissed me.”

I was in shock. How could that possibly be true?

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