The month she moved in, I had installed two small cameras in the house, in the living room and the kitchen.
Not for her. For the girls.
A single working dad with two ten-year-olds and a demanding job wants to be able to check that everyone is safe when he’s stuck late at the office.
Jenna knew about them. She’d just forgotten they were always on.
She’d stopped noticing them the way you stop noticing a smoke detector on the ceiling.
Every word she’d spoken that Tuesday was recorded, timestamped, and backed up to the cloud automatically.
So were the three other afternoons that week, once I knew to look.
I sat alone in my car in parking lots that week and watched the footage with my jaw clenched so hard it ached.
The cruelty to Lily, who only wanted someone to sit with her while she did her spelling.
