Chapter 6 - The Camera I Never Told Them About
There was one more thing Garrett and Carol did not know.
Two weeks earlier, after a bottle of Jonah’s liquid antibiotic went missing and reappeared in the wrong cabinet, I installed a small interior security camera facing the downstairs hallway and garage entrance.
Not because I thought someone would break in.
Because I had started to suspect I was living among people who smiled in daylight and searched through my things at night.
At one in the morning, sitting in the hotel bathroom so I would not wake Jonah, I opened the app.
The footage told the story cleanly.
At 9:14 p.m., I entered the dining room.
At 9:19, the plate shattered.
At 9:21, I took Jonah upstairs.
At 9:23, Carol looked at Garrett, said something I could not fully hear, and both of them went upstairs together.
At 9:25, they came back down.
Carol had the blue folder.
At 9:27, they stepped onto the porch.
I watched the clip twice.
Then I watched it a third time with the sound turned up.
Garrett’s voice came through just clearly enough:
“If she’s got the trust papers in there, we need to know.”
Need to know.
Not curiosity.
Intent.
Dana’s reaction when I sent the clip was immediate.
“Do not go back alone tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going to call someone.”
“Who?”
“A sheriff’s deputy I know. Civil standby. And Megan?”
“Yeah?”
“Make copies of every clip. Tonight.”
I did.
Then I sat on the bathroom floor with my back against the tub and cried very quietly so my son would not hear.
Not because Carol fed him cold rice.
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Not even because Garrett laughed.
Because I had finally reached the place every exhausted woman hopes she can avoid: the place where the evidence becomes so clear that staying requires more self-betrayal than leaving.
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