Camilla staged her next confrontation during a Career Club meeting.

We had just begun a workshop on recommendation letters when she marched into the dining room carrying a stack of glossy Italian hotel brochures.

“I want everyone to see what a decent son looks like,” she announced.

“Gavin took his mother somewhere beautiful because he appreciates sacrifice.”

The students went quiet.

One of them, a boy named Tariq, closed his laptop.

I walked toward the door.