I wish I could say I was just being paranoid. That my mind was playing tricks on me, and that all my worries came from being tired and stressed. But I know the truth now—I wasn’t crazy. My suspicions weren’t just imagination.
And I would give anything, anything, to have been wrong.
My name is Martha, and I’m a mom to a bright and curious four-year-old named Beverly. My husband, Jason, and I both work full-time, so Bev spends most of the week at daycare. Honestly, it wasn’t ideal, but it worked. She was happy there, and we were getting by.
“I know it’s not easy, but Bev’s doing great, love,” Jason reassured me one morning while packing her lunch.
“I know, but I just… I don’t want her to feel like we’re pushing her away or that she’s being ignored,” I said, my voice carrying the weight of the guilt I felt.
Then, about a month ago, my mother-in-law, Cheryl, made an offer that seemed like a godsend.
“Why don’t I take Beverly on Wednesdays? Give her a break from daycare, and we can have some grandma-granddaughter bonding time. It’ll be good for both of us,” Cheryl suggested during dinner one night, twirling her chicken on her plate.
I was a little hesitant but, truth be told, I was relieved. It meant Beverly could spend more time with family, and I could ease my mind, knowing she was in good hands.
So, I said yes.
At first, everything seemed fine. Cheryl’s visits went smoothly. But then, small changes began to happen. At first, I brushed it off as nothing, but as time passed, the changes were harder to ignore.
One night, as I served dinner, Beverly pushed her plate away.
“I only want to eat with Daddy, Grandma, and her friend today,” she said with a strange smile, sipping her juice like she was sharing a secret.
I frowned, confused. “Who’s Grandma’s friend, sweetheart?”
She didn’t answer, but she kept saying it more and more. She mentioned a “friend” who was becoming a regular part of her day.
Then, one evening, as I tucked her into bed, she asked a question that sent a chill down my spine.
“Mommy,” she whispered, clutching her stuffed unicorn, “why don’t you like our friend?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Who told you that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Bev hesitated before answering in a way that didn’t feel right for a four-year-old. “Our friend is part of the family, Mommy. You just don’t see it yet.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine. Something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but something was off.
The next time Cheryl came over for breakfast, I decided to ask her about it. Jason and Beverly were in the kitchen, busy making pancakes when I pulled Cheryl aside.
“Has Beverly made any new friends? At daycare or at the park?” I asked casually, trying to mask the growing unease in my chest.
Cheryl barely glanced up from her coffee. “Oh, you know how kids are, Martha. Always making up imaginary friends. Nothing to worry about.”
Her voice was too smooth, too calm. But something inside me told me she wasn’t telling the truth.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
That night, I did something I never thought I would. I set up a hidden camera in the living room. It was the same one we had used when Beverly was younger and we had a night nanny. I never thought I would need to use it again, but now, it felt necessary. I had to know what was going on when I wasn’t there.
The next Wednesday, I went to work, trying to stay calm. I left snacks in the fridge for Cheryl and Beverly, but I couldn’t stop the anxiety from building as the day went on. By lunch, I could barely focus. My hands were shaking as I pulled up the footage on my phone.
At first, it seemed normal. Beverly was playing with her dolls, a bowl of fruit beside her, while Cheryl sat on the couch sipping tea. Then, Cheryl checked her watch.
“Bev, sweetheart, are you ready? Our friend will be here soon,” she said, a smile in her voice.
My heart dropped. “Our friend…” My mind raced.
“Yes, Gran! I love her! Do you think she’ll play with my hair again?” Beverly’s voice was filled with excitement.
Cheryl’s smile was almost too bright. “I’m sure she will, little love. And remember, we don’t tell Mommy about her, okay?”
Beverly’s voice, sweet and innocent, echoed in my ears. “Yes. Not a word to Mom.”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My worst fears were beginning to unfold before my eyes.
And then the doorbell rang.
Cheryl stood up, smoothing her clothes as she walked to the door. I held my breath, not knowing what I was about to witness.
When she opened the door, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
It was Alexa. Jason’s ex-wife. The woman he had left years ago. The woman who had claimed to move to another state for a fresh start.
And there, in her arms, was my daughter. Beverly ran straight to Alexa, like she had known her all her life.
I barely remember how I grabbed my keys and rushed out the door. Everything felt like a blur. One minute, I was watching my world crumble on my phone, and the next, I was driving home at full speed, my hands gripping the wheel as my heart raced in my chest.
I threw the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Inside, they were all there—Cheryl, Alexa, and Beverly, sitting together like some twisted little family reunion.
Alexa turned to me, surprised. “Oh. Hi, Martha. I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Her words stung like ice. She spoke so casually, like she belonged there, like I didn’t. Like I was the intruder.
“What the hell is she doing here?” I demanded, my voice sharp.
Beverly looked up from her spot beside Alexa, her face confused. “Mommy, why are you ruining the union?” she asked innocently.
Union? Reunion? What was she talking about?
Cheryl sighed, leaning back in her seat like all of this was nothing new to her. “You always were a bit slow on the uptake, Martha,” she said with an almost bored tone.
Then it all came crashing down. The words that followed shattered everything I thought I knew.
“What union? Or reunion? What is my child talking about?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Alexa shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Look, I…” she started, but I didn’t let her finish.
“Shut up,” I snapped.
Cheryl smirked, her eyes cold. “It’s time you accept the reality, Martha. You were never really supposed to be here. You were a mistake.”
I felt a coldness spread through me. “What do you mean by that?”
Cheryl leaned forward, her voice filled with venom. “Alexa was meant to be with Jason. Not you. Beverly was always meant to be with her, and when Jason finally wakes up to that, Alexa will take her. She won’t be stuck in daycare. She’ll work from home, so she can be with her.”
My heart was breaking. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth.
“You manipulated my child, Cheryl!” I screamed. “You made her believe that she didn’t matter. That I didn’t matter!”
Cheryl raised an eyebrow, her face unreadable. “Well, aren’t you?”
I was shaking with rage, but I couldn’t let it consume me. “And you?” I snapped, turning to Alexa. “You’re okay with this? After everything?”
Alexa wouldn’t meet my eyes. She fiddled with a pillow in her lap.
Cheryl was grinning now, her smile sharp as a knife. “You really think Jason will side with you? You’re out of your mind.”
But I didn’t care. “I’m done with you,” I said coldly. “You will never see Beverly again.”
I grabbed my daughter, who was still confused by it all, and I held her close.
We left that house, and as I sat in the car with Beverly in my arms, I promised myself one thing.
No one, not Cheryl, not Alexa, was going to take my daughter away from me.
Not even Jason, if it came to that.
Later, after a trip to the ice cream shop, I explained everything to Bev.
“Mom? What happened? Did I do something wrong?” she asked, looking up at me with big, worried eyes.
“No, honey,” I said softly, brushing her hair from her face. “Grandma made a mistake. She lied to both of us. And we’re not going to see her anymore.”
“And Aunty Alexa?” she asked, her voice small.
“No, we won’t see her either. She hurt Daddy a long time ago, and she’s not a nice person. And what do we say about people who are not nice?”
“We stay away from them!” she said, her face lighting up as she remembered.
When we got home, Cheryl had already tried to call. I blocked her number.
Some people don’t deserve second chances.
And some people don’t deserve to be called family.
