THE CAMERA
At first, I assumed she was having nightmares.
But I saw the fear in her eyes.
I spoke with my husband, Daniel Mitchell, a surgeon who often came home late after exhausting shifts.
He listened, then smiled gently.
—Kids imagine things. Our house is safe… nothing like that could happen.
I didn’t argue.
I simply installed a camera.
A small, discreet one in the corner of Emily’s bedroom ceiling—not to spy on her, but to ease my own mind.
That night, Emily slept soundly.
The bed was clear.
No clutter.
Nothing taking up space.
I exhaled in relief.
Until 2 a.m.
