Chapter 7 - The Woman In The Camera Feed
The bedroom camera showed a woman standing in the darkness as I whispered: "Who are you?"
She slowly turned toward the lens.
Then she smiled.
Because she knew I was watching.
I couldn't move.
The phone was still in my hand.
The security feed was frozen on the screen.
A woman stood inside my bedroom.
My bedroom.
The place where I had slept every night.
The place where I had cried silently when Daniel hurt me.
The place where I had whispered to my unborn daughter when nobody else listened.
And now someone was standing there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Emily looked over my shoulder.
Her face lost all color.
"No."
I looked at her.
"You know her?"
Emily didn't answer.
That scared me more than anything.
Because Emily had already admitted she knew about the recordings.
She had admitted she knew Daniel and Margaret were planning something.
But this reaction was different.
This was fear.
Real fear.
"Emily."
She stepped away from the phone.
"Turn it off."
"What?"
"Turn off the feed."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
Her voice dropped.
"Because if she knows you can see her, you don't know what she will do next."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Who is she?"
Emily looked at me.
And for the first time since she entered my room, she looked completely terrified.
"Your old friend."
I felt confused.
"My old friend?"
She nodded slowly.
"The person who helped plan your baby shower."
My heart sank.
"No."
Emily looked away.
"Yes."
The room became silent.
Because there was only one person who fit that description.
One person who had spent months standing beside me.
One person who had listened to all my fears.
One person who knew exactly how vulnerable I was.
Jessica.
My best friend.
I met Jessica five years earlier.
Before Daniel changed.
Before everything became complicated.
She was the kind of person everyone trusted.
She remembered birthdays.
She brought gifts.
She checked on people when they were sick.
When I got pregnant, she was the first person outside my family who cried with happiness.
"You are going to be an amazing mother," she told me.
I believed her.
When Daniel started criticizing me, Jessica was the person I called.
When I felt lonely, Jessica listened.
When I cried, Jessica hugged me.
But now I was staring at a camera feed showing someone inside my bedroom.
Someone who had access.
Someone who knew my life.
I looked at Emily.
"How long?"
Emily lowered her eyes.
"Since before the baby shower."
My stomach twisted.
"What do you mean?"
She took a breath.
"Jessica was the one who gave Daniel the idea."
My chest tightened.
"The idea for what?"
Emily looked at the phone.
"The cameras."
I felt like the air disappeared.
"No."
Emily nodded.
"She told him nobody would believe you if you started accusing him."
I remembered all the moments.
All the conversations.
All the times Jessica asked questions that seemed harmless.
"How often do you and Daniel fight?"
"Does he get angry?"
"Are you sleeping okay?"
I thought she cared.
She was collecting information.
Officer Miller arrived less than twenty minutes later.
I showed her the camera feed.
The woman was gone.
But the recording remained.
She watched the footage carefully.
Then she looked at me.
"Do you have any idea how she entered the house?"
I shook my head.
"No."
She looked at Emily.
"And you?"
Emily hesitated.
That hesitation said everything.
"I think Daniel gave her access."
Officer Miller wrote something down.
"Why would he do that?"
Emily answered quietly.
"Because they were working together."
The officer looked at me.
"How long has this been happening?"
I didn't know what to say.
Months.
Maybe longer.
My entire pregnancy.
My entire journey toward becoming a mother.
Someone had been watching.
Someone had been planning.
Someone had been waiting.
Then Officer Miller's phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her expression changed.
"What?"
A pause.
Then:
"Are you sure?"
My heart started racing.
She ended the call.
"What happened?"
She looked at me.
"The police searched Daniel's house."
I waited.
"What did they find?"
She didn't answer immediately.
That worried me.
"They found a room."
"A room?"
She nodded.
"A hidden room."
I felt cold.
"What was inside?"
Officer Miller looked at Emily.
Then back at me.
"Files."
I swallowed.
"What kind of files?"
She opened her folder.
"Medical records."
My blood ran cold.
"My medical records?"
She nodded.
"Your pregnancy records. Doctor appointments. Personal notes."
I looked at my daughter.
They had been studying me.
Not loving me.
Studying me.
Then Officer Miller said something that made my heart stop.
"There were also documents about custody."
I closed my eyes.
They really planned everything.
The recordings.
The accusations.
The story.
Everything.
But then Officer Miller placed one more item on the table.
A small envelope.
"We found this hidden behind the camera equipment."
I stared at it.
"What's inside?"
She looked serious.
"We don't know yet."
I reached for it.
My fingers shook.
The envelope had my name written on it.
Not my married name.
My maiden name.
The name I hadn't used in years.
I looked at Emily.
"Who wrote this?"
She didn't answer.
Because she already knew.
I opened the envelope slowly.
Inside was one photograph.
A picture of me.
Pregnant.
Sleeping in my bedroom.
Taken from the hidden camera.
On the back of the photo were five words:
"She was never supposed to know."
My hands went numb.
Because suddenly I understood.
The cameras were not installed to record my behavior.
They were installed because someone was waiting for something.
Something they thought would happen.
Officer Miller looked at the photo.
Then her phone rang again.
She answered.
Her face changed instantly.
"Where?"
A pause.
Then she looked directly at me.
"We found Jessica."
My heart stopped.
"Where is she?"
Officer Miller didn't respond.
She just turned her phone around.
The message on the screen was from an unknown number.
It contained one sentence.
"You found the wrong person. Jessica was only following orders."
Then another message arrived.
A location.
And beneath it was a name.
May you like
The person who had been controlling everything...
Daniel's father.
