The nightlight cast soft, wavering shadows across Emma’s bedroom, transforming familiar shapes into an eerie landscape. Toys and books lay scattered, remnants of a day filled with laughter, now silent witnesses to a tension I could feel in my chest. My heart pounded as I watched the hidden camera footage, dread gnawing at me with each passing second.
Emma, small and fragile, lay in her bed, her favorite blanket patterned with stars pulled up to her chin. On the surface, everything seemed peaceful—the kind of calm parents hope for when tucking their children in. But beneath that tranquility, something felt profoundly wrong.
Evan entered the room quietly, moving with practiced ease. He sat on the edge of Emma’s bed, brushing a gentle hand across her forehead. At first, the gesture appeared innocent, even caring, but instinct told me otherwise.