Chapter 6 - The Papers
I read every page.
Then I read them again.
My mother had collected dates.
Screenshots.
Statements.
Photographs.
Most were misleading.
Some were outright fake.
One photograph showed Megan asleep on the couch while Noah played nearby.
I remembered that afternoon.
I had taken the picture.
Megan had a fever.
I had been sitting three feet away.
But the printed caption said:
Child left unsupervised while mother sleeps during daytime hours.
Another showed a bruise on Noah’s knee.
Normal toddler bruise.
The document called it an “unexplained injury.”
I felt sick.
“How did you find this?”
“Linda left her folder here.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
Megan’s eyes hardened.
“I tried.”
My mouth went dry.
“When?”
“The night you had your game tournament with Ryan.”
I remembered.
My friend Ryan and I had played online until almost two in the morning.
Megan had stood beside the couch holding a folder.
I had said, “Can this wait?”
God.
I actually remembered saying it.
She had answered, “I guess.”
Then she walked upstairs.
I sat there staring at the papers.
“You tried again?”
“The next morning.”
“What did I say?”
“You were late for work.”
I shut my eyes.
“Again that weekend?”
“You told me your mother loved Noah and I needed to stop seeing everything she did as criticism.”
Every word came back like a punch.
“I said that.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need apologies right now.”
“What do you need?”
“Safety.”
That answer destroyed me.
“My wife has to ask me for safety in her own house.”
“Daniel—”
“No. You’re right.”
I stood.
“Pack bags for you and Noah.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“We’re leaving.”
“This is our house.”
“And Mom has been inside it when I wasn’t here.”
“We changed the locks.”
“She found ways around everything else.”
Megan looked uncertain.
“Where?”
“Ryan has a cabin outside Asheville. Nobody in my family knows the address.”
“You think we should run?”
“I think we should create distance while we talk to a lawyer.”
For the first time that day, she looked relieved.
I called Ryan.
He answered immediately.
“What’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
“You sound weird.”
“Can Megan, Noah, and I use the cabin?”
“Sure. When?”
“Tonight.”
Silence.
Then, “How bad?”
“Bad.”
“You need me?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll send you the lock code.”
Forty minutes later, bags were packed.
I checked windows.
Cameras.
Doors.
Then I remembered the security system.
The backyard camera.
I opened the app.
Yesterday afternoon.
Mom arrived at 1:17.
She left at 4:46.
But something strange happened at 2:03.
The backyard camera froze.
Then resumed at 3:31.
Eighty-eight minutes missing.
“Did Mom go outside yesterday?”
Megan looked up.
“No.”
I checked the front camera.
Also offline.
The kitchen camera?
Offline.
All three disabled at exactly 2:03.
Someone had logged into the security account.
I opened the device history.
One unfamiliar phone.
Login location: my house.
User credentials: mine.
Then I saw the time the new device had first been authorized.
Six months earlier.
The same week Mom’s daily visits began.
I looked at Megan.
“She’s been watching the cameras.”
Megan’s face went pale.
Then the baby monitor crackled upstairs.
We both froze.
Noah was standing beside us.
His bedroom was empty.
Yet a woman’s voice whispered through the monitor.
“Daniel?”
May you like
My mother.
“Before you leave, you might want to check the garage.”
