Chapter 2 - THE DIGITAL GHOSTS
By 9:30 PM, my parents and sister had left. The house was dead quiet.
Lily had fallen asleep in my bed, clutching her stuffed rabbit, her breathing shallow and uneven. I had sat beside her for over an hour, stroking her soft hair, listening to the tiny whimpers she made in her sleep.
When I finally walked downstairs into the kitchen, Meredith was standing at the sink, washing the final dessert plates. She had put on a soft cashmere sweater, her hair tied back in a neat bun. She looked every bit the devoted, loving wife I thought I had married.
“Is she asleep?” Meredith asked gently without turning around.
“She is,” I replied, standing near the kitchen island, leaning my hands against the polished granite.
Meredith turned off the faucet, dried her hands on a hand towel, and walked over to stand opposite me. She reached across the marble to touch my hand, but I subtly pulled my arm back, pretending to check my wristwatch.
She noticed the gesture. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“David, I know tonight was uncomfortable,” she said, her voice dripping with soft regret. “I know how much you cherish Caroline’s memory and how much you love Lily. But we have to be a united front. If we let a four-year-old manipulate us with wild stories, our marriage won't survive.”
“Manipulate us?” I repeated, my voice dropping an octave. “She’s four, Meredith. She doesn't know what the word 'monster' means unless she feels monstered.”
Meredith let out a tiny, patronizing laugh. “David, please. She heard it in a cartoon. Or maybe your sister Hannah said something—we all know Hannah hasn't been entirely welcoming to me since the wedding.”
I stared at her. Three weeks ago, I had promised to love this woman until death parted us. She was cultured, gentle, and had seamlessly stepped into our lives. But standing here in the fluorescent light of the kitchen, I realized how little I actually knew about her past. She had told me her parents passed away years ago, that she had no siblings, and that she had moved to Columbus after a painful breakup in Chicago. I had never questioned it because I was so blinded by the desire to give Lily a complete home.
“I installed security cameras in the house three months ago,” I said quietly.
The air in the room instantly vanished.
Meredith froze. The towel in her hands crumpled slightly. “What?”
“When I started taking those early morning appraisal jobs in Cleveland,” I explained, watching her face like a hawk, “I put hidden ring-style sensors and a nursery camera in the living room and hallway. I wanted to make sure the nanny we had back then was keeping the doors locked.”
Meredith’s chest rose and fell in a fast, shallow rhythm. Her calm mask began to fracture around the edges. “You... you never mentioned cameras, David. That feels like a violation of privacy in my own home.”
“It’s my home,” I corrected coldly. “And if Lily is having night terrors and throwing oatmeal at six in the morning while I’m driving on I-71, the footage will prove it. It will prove you’re right, Meredith. It will show me her regression so we can get her help.”
I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket.
Meredith’s hand shot across the island like a strike from a viper. Her manicured fingers clamped down hard on my wrist. Her grip was astonishingly strong—far stronger than a florist should have had.
“Don't,” she whispered. Her voice was no longer sweet or maternal. It was sharp, dark, and filled with a cold, terrifying authority.
May you like
I looked down at her hand on my wrist, then up into her eyes. The mask was completely gone.
“Why not, Meredith?” I asked, my blood running cold. “If you have nothing to hide, why are you shaking?”
