Chapter 2 - The Camera Above the Bookshelf
Evelyn left at 9:17 that morning.
I know the exact time because Daniel stood in the driveway watching her load two suitcases into a black sedan while I watched from the front window with Lily in my arms.
Evelyn never looked back.
She also never took the framed photograph of Daniel as a boy that she kept beside her bed.
That bothered me.
Evelyn took everything she considered hers.
Why leave the photograph?
"Is Grandma mad?" Lily asked.
"Yes."
"At me?"
"No, sweetheart."
"Because I told?"
I lowered her to the couch.
"Because she doesn't like being told no."
Lily considered that.
"She told me no a lot."
I almost smiled.
Then I saw the mark on her wrist again.
Daniel came inside.
The front door closed behind him with a quiet click.
For a moment we stood across the living room from each other.
"Emily—"
"What does she mean that I'm going away?"
"I don't know."
"Don't."
His eyes flicked away.
Seven years of marriage teaches you the difference between a husband's confusion and a husband's delay.
That was delay.
I folded my arms.
"Try again."
He rubbed both hands over his face.
"Mom says things."
"Lily says Grandma told her you already know."
"She's four."
I stared at him.
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
"That is exactly what your mother says when she wants us not to believe her."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Then how did you mean it?"
Daniel sat on the arm of the couch.
"I mean Lily misunderstands adult conversations."
"What adult conversation included me going away?"
He did not answer.
I felt cold.
Not frightened yet.
Cold.
There is a point in a marriage when silence becomes information.
I had reached it.
"Where is your mother staying?"
"She said a hotel."
"Which hotel?"
"I don't know."
"Did you ask?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you told her to leave and I backed you up."
I laughed bitterly.
"You want credit?"
"I want you to stop looking at me like I'm the enemy."
"Then stop acting like a witness who needs a lawyer."
Lily was watching us.
I forced myself to lower my voice.
"Go upstairs and pick a movie, baby."
"I want you."
"I'll come in five minutes."
She hesitated.
Then she whispered, "Don't let Daddy be mad."
That broke something in both of us.
Daniel looked away.
I crouched.
"Daddy isn't mad at you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She climbed the stairs slowly, turning twice to make sure I remained where she had left me.
When her bedroom door closed, I said, "How long has she been afraid of us arguing?"
Daniel stared at the floor.
"I don't know."
"How long has your mother been hurting her?"
"I didn't know she was."
"Neither did I."
That was the sentence that frightened me.
We had both lived in the house.
How had neither of us known?
Then I remembered the little camera.
It sat on top of the bookshelf in the family room, pointed toward the play area. We had installed it when Lily was two because she once climbed a bookcase while I was cooking.
It was motion activated.
I hadn't checked the recordings in months.
I walked toward the shelf.
Daniel followed.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding out."
The camera app still worked.
Cloud storage: thirty days.
My thumb shook as I opened the timeline.
There were hundreds of clips.
Lily playing.
Daniel passing through.
Me carrying groceries.
Evelyn wiping counters.
Then I noticed something.
Every weekday between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m., when I worked in my upstairs office, the camera went offline.
Not once.
Nearly every day.
"Why does it keep disconnecting?" I asked.
Daniel leaned closer.
"I don't know."
I checked the device history.
Manual privacy mode activated.
Manual privacy mode ended.
My stomach dropped.
"Someone was turning it off."
Daniel straightened.
"Mom wouldn't know how."
"Your mother runs three church committees from an iPad."
I scrolled farther.
One afternoon she had apparently forgotten.
The camera remained active.
I tapped the clip.
At first, nothing happened.
The family room was quiet.
Then Evelyn walked into frame.
Lily followed carrying a doll.
"Sit."
"I want Mommy."
"Your mother is working."
"I want Mommy."
"Your mother does not want to be bothered."
I stopped breathing.
Onscreen, Lily's face crumpled.
Evelyn took the doll from her and set it on a high shelf.
"You get this back when you learn to listen."
"Please."
"Sit."
Lily sat.
Evelyn placed a plate on the coffee table.
Something green.
Peas, maybe.
"Eat them."
"No."
"You will eat what I give you."
"I don't like them."
Evelyn leaned close.
Her voice dropped.
"If you make your mother upset again, she will go away."
Beside me, Daniel whispered, "Jesus."
Onscreen, Lily stared at her grandmother.
"Where?"
"Someplace tired mommies go when they can't handle difficult little girls."
I paused the video.
Daniel turned away.
I could hear him breathing.
"She told our child I would leave because of her."
"I see that."
"No. Say it."
"Emily."
"Say it."
He looked at me.
"My mother told Lily you would leave because of her."
I pressed play.
Evelyn made Lily eat peas until she gagged.
When Lily cried, Evelyn squeezed her cheeks between one hand and said, "Swallow."
Daniel shut his eyes.
"Turn it off."
"No."
"Emily, I can't—"
"I couldn't see it when it was happening. I am going to see it now."
The clip lasted six minutes.
At the end, Evelyn returned the doll.
Then she knelt in front of Lily.
"What happens if you tell Mommy?"
Lily whispered, "She goes away."
"Good girl."
The video ended.
Neither of us moved.
Then the application displayed a notification.
New login detected.
My eyes narrowed.
"What login?"
Daniel looked over.
Another device had accessed our camera account three minutes earlier.
The account information showed a phone number ending in 4419.
I knew that number.
Evelyn.
"Change the password," I said.
Daniel reached for his phone.
Before he could touch the screen, every saved clip vanished.
The timeline went blank.
Deleted.
I stared at it.
Daniel stared too.
"She deleted them."
But a little green icon remained at the bottom.
I tapped it.
DOWNLOAD COMPLETE.
Without realizing it, when I played the clip, the app had automatically saved a copy to my phone.
One copy.
Maybe enough.
Then another notification appeared.
Not from the camera.
From our front-door security system.
USER EVELYN CARTER HAS REQUESTED REMOTE ACCESS.
I hit DENY.
A text arrived immediately.
EVELYN: You have no idea what you just started.
I showed Daniel.
His jaw clenched.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the name.
Mom.
"Answer it," I said.
He hesitated.
"On speaker."
Daniel answered.
"Mom."
Evelyn's voice came through calm as Sunday morning.
"Daniel, sweetheart, we need to talk before Emily does something irreversible."
I stepped closer.
"Too late."
There was a pause.
May you like
Then Evelyn said five words I would hear in my sleep for weeks.
"Ask your husband about Tuesday."
