Lydia’s gut told her something was wrong, but her husband insisted she was overreacting. Then the phone rang. Her daughter’s whisper sent a chill down her spine—
“Mom, I just saw a camera in the room.”
In that moment, Lydia knew—her instincts had been right all along.
The clock on the kitchen wall seemed to tick louder than usual, each second stretching longer than it should. Lydia sat stiffly at the table, arms folded tightly across her chest, her foot tapping an anxious rhythm against the cool, tiled floor. The glow of the oven cast flickering shadows along the walls, the scent of roasted chicken filling the air, but she had no appetite.
Across the kitchen, Mark stood at the counter, humming a tune under his breath as he chopped vegetables. His movements were slow, relaxed, his shoulders loose, as if nothing in the world could disturb his peace.
Lydia exhaled sharply. “I can’t do this,” she muttered, her voice thick with tension. She pushed back from the table, standing so quickly that the chair scraped against the tile. “I’m going to pick her up.”
Mark didn’t even pause his slicing. “Lyd, come on.” His tone was light, as if she were being ridiculous. “It’s just a sleepover.”
She turned to face him fully, her eyes dark with worry. “Her first sleepover. At Kara’s house.”
She reached for her car keys on the table, gripping them so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I never trusted that woman. Even back in high school, she always had it out for me.”
Mark finally looked up, sighing as he set the knife down. His face was patient, almost amused. “That was twenty years ago. People change. You’re overthinking this.”
Lydia shook her head. “I don’t care. I have a bad feeling.”
Mark wiped his hands on a dish towel before stepping toward her. He placed a warm, steadying hand on her arm, his touch meant to soothe. “She’s fine. You need to let her have some independence,” he said gently. His voice softened, the way it always did when he wanted her to calm down. “Trust her, Lydia.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Maybe she was being irrational. Maybe Mark was right. Ellie was just a kid, but she wasn’t helpless. She had to let go a little, didn’t she?
“Maybe you’re right…” she admitted, though the words tasted wrong.
Then, her phone rang.
The sharp sound cut through the room like a blade. Lydia snatched the phone off the counter without thinking, barely glancing at the screen before answering.
“Sweetheart?”
For a second, there was only silence. Then, a small, shaky whisper:
“Mom.”
Lydia’s grip tightened around the phone. “Ellie?”
Her daughter’s voice trembled. “I just saw a camera in the room.”
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”
“A camera,” Ellie repeated, quieter this time. “It was in the corner. I saw a little red light. I don’t think it’s supposed to be there.”
The blood drained from Lydia’s face. The bad feeling in her gut solidified into something cold and real.
“I’m coming,” she said immediately, her voice firm. She was already grabbing her coat, already moving toward the door. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
Lydia pounded on the door so hard that her knuckles stung, but she didn’t care. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. She could barely think past the single thought repeating in her mind: Ellie is in there.
After what felt like forever, the door finally swung open. Kara stood there, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched, a smile already curving her lips. It wasn’t a welcoming smile—it was the kind people used when they were trying to hide something.
“Oh, Lydia,” Kara said smoothly, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
Lydia didn’t waste a second. She shoved past Kara without answering, the smell of lavender and something artificial—like expensive hairspray—filling her nose as she brushed against her.
“Ellie?” Lydia called, her voice tight.
Before she could take another step, Ellie came running. She collided with Lydia’s chest so fast that Lydia stumbled back slightly, but she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, squeezing her tightly, feeling the wild pounding of Ellie’s little heart against her own.
Lydia turned—slowly, deliberately—to face Kara. “She found a camera in the room.”
Kara didn’t flinch. “It was off,” she said with a small shrug. “I put it there because anyone could climb through that window. It’s for my daughter’s safety.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Then why did Ellie see a red light? If it was off, why was it on?”
For the first time, Kara hesitated. It was just a fraction of a second, but Lydia saw it.
“That camera shouldn’t have been on,” Lydia snapped, stepping forward. “And I don’t care about your excuses. I want the footage deleted—now.”
Kara sighed dramatically, rubbing her temples. “Fine,” she said, drawing out the word like she was humoring a child. “I’ll delete it. But Lydia, you’re being paranoid.”
Lydia ignored her. She reached down, grabbed Ellie’s hand, and squeezed it tightly.
“We’re leaving,” she said, her voice firm. “And she’s never coming back here.”
Ellie clung to her side as they stormed out, her small fingers gripping Lydia’s like a lifeline. Kara didn’t say another word, but Lydia could feel her gaze burning into her back.
That night, Mark sat at the edge of the bed, shaking his head. “Lydia, don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
She snapped her head toward him, her glare cutting like a blade. “Overreacting? There was a camera in the room where our daughter was sleeping!”
Mark exhaled, rubbing his temple. “But why was it there? To protect the girls. Not to spy on them. You’re acting like Kara had some creepy reason for it.”
Lydia let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You always took her side, didn’t you? Even in high school.”
Mark groaned, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on, Lydia. That was years ago.”
She clenched her jaw. “And now, here you are again, sticking up for her instead of your own wife.”
Mark didn’t answer.
Lydia turned away, her mind racing. One thing was clear—something wasn’t right. And she was going to find out what it was.
