He would install a hidden camera inside Oliver’s room.
He justified it easily: safety. Security. His house, his child, his right. He didn’t want drama, didn’t want confrontation. Just answers.
He had a tiny lens installed just above the lamp—completely invisible.
Then, the next night, he locked himself in his office, dimmed the lights, and opened the live feed.
Grace had just arrived. Her hair was tied up in a bun, her apron crisp and clean. She set her bag down by the door and walked straight to Oliver.
He looked weaker than usual, eyes heavy, face pale.
“Hi, sunshine,” she whispered, sitting beside him. “Rough day?”
Oliver nodded slightly.
“Well… guess what I brought?”
She pulled a napkin from her apron and unfolded it carefully, revealing two butter cookies.
“Shhh,” she winked. “Don’t tell the nurse.”
Oliver smiled. It was faint—but real.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice thin but warm.
Grace leaned closer. “You’re so strong, you know that? Stronger than any superhero in your cartoons.”
Jonathan’s chest tightened. He hadn’t heard that tone in the house in years.
Oliver’s lip trembled. “I miss Mommy,” he whispered.
Grace’s smile faded to something softer, gentler. She stroked his hair.
“I know, baby. I miss mine too.”
Then she leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“I’ll never let anything happen to you,” she whispered. “Even if your daddy doesn’t appear again…”
Jonathan blinked.
