Page 164 of Love Unscripted
“I won’t stay long,” he said.
Camille stepped aside. “Come in.”
They sat in the living room. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Carlo cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
Camille waited.
“About God.”
She remained quiet, giving him space.
“I don’t pretend to understand everything,” he continued slowly. “But I do know something.”
“What’s that?”
“That I haven’t lived the way I should have.” His voice was steady, but stripped of its usual charm. “I’ve wronged a lot of people. I’ve swindled them… taken what wasn’t mine.”
Camille felt her chest tighten, but she kept her expression gentle.
“That realization,” she said softly, “is where repentance begins.”
He nodded, his eyes dropping. “How do I even begin to undo something like that?”
She smiled, not dismissively, but with quiet assurance. “You begin by throwing yourself at the feet of Jesus and asking Him to save you. He will guide you from there.”
Carlo looked at her, listening now in a way he never had before.
“I was just reading about a man named Zacchaeus,” she continued. “He was a tax collector in Jesus’ time. He cheated people—took more than he should, grew rich off their suffering. Everyone knew it, but no one could stop him.”
Carlo’s gaze flickered, understanding.
“But when Jesus came into his life, everything changed. He saw his sin clearly for the first time—not just the weight of it, but the mercy offered to him. And out of that, he chose to make things right. He repaid those he had wronged—four times what he had taken.”
Silence settled between them.
Carlo nodded slowly. “Thank you… for that.” He paused. “It gives me something to think about.”
Camille gave a small nod. “I’ll be praying for you.”
He didn’t respond right away—but something in his expression had shifted.
~*~*~*~
Later that afternoon, her mother arrived.
Rita swept into the house with her usual dramatic flair—but even that felt softened somehow, as though the edges had been rounded.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she admitted, almost immediately.
Camille raised a brow. “About what?”
“The gospel.”
Rita sat down carefully, smoothing her skirt—an uncharacteristically restrained gesture.
“I’ve spent my whole life managing things,” she said. “Fixing problems. Controlling outcomes.”
