Chapter 1 - THE CAMERA IN MY BLOUSE
The water in the bathtub was shallow.
That was the first thing I told myself.
Shallow.
Not enough to cover Sophie’s body.
Not enough to make the image less terrifying.
She was alone.
A very young baby, kicking weakly in the warm water, wrapped only in the little muslin cloth Patricia had insisted was “good enough for a minute.”
I rushed forward.
“Oh my God! Sophie!”
I lifted her out, wrapped her tightly in a white towel, and placed her on the padded changing mat.
She was frightened.
Crying.
But breathing normally.
Safe.
Then Patricia charged into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?”
I turned.
“Where were you?”
Her face changed.
Not guilt.
Rage.
“I said I was coming back.”
“You left her alone.”
“For thirty seconds.”
“I don’t care if it was ten.”
She crossed the room fast, grabbed the front of my blouse, and yanked me toward her.
“Put her down. Stay out of this!”
Then she kicked me hard in the guarded side.
I folded instinctively.
Before I could recover, her hand cracked across my face.
My lip split slightly against my tooth.
I hit the tile.
The room blurred for one second.
Then I saw Patricia turn toward Sophie.
Something in me switched.
I pushed myself up, stepped between her and the changing mat, and slapped her once across the face.
“Are you even human?”
Patricia staggered.
The bathroom door burst open.
Daniel.
Sophie’s father.
He saw his mother holding her cheek.
He saw me standing in front of her.
He did not ask what happened.
He grabbed my arm, pulled me away, and slapped me.
“Don’t touch my mother!”
I stumbled into the counter.
The humiliation hit almost harder than the pain.
Patricia immediately moved behind him.
“She attacked me!”
Daniel glared.
“Emily, what the hell is wrong with you?”
I wiped the corner of my mouth.
Then I felt it.
The tiny hard edge beneath my blouse.
The camera.
I had started carrying it three weeks earlier.
Not because I expected violence.
Because Patricia kept accusing me of things that never happened.
Leaving bottles out.
Ignoring Sophie’s cries.
Stealing jewelry.
Talking disrespectfully.
Little lies.
Always little enough that Daniel could say:
“I’m sure Mom misunderstood.”
So I bought a tiny wearable camera.
For my own protection.
Now I pulled it free.
Patricia went pale.
Daniel stopped breathing.
I held it up.
“Wanna see the truth?”
He looked at his mother.
Then at me.
Patricia said too quickly:
“That thing is illegal.”
Daniel’s head turned.
“Why are you worried about legality before you know what’s on it?”
She said nothing.
Good.
For the first time since I started working in that house, Daniel questioned her before questioning me.
I pressed playback.
The footage began thirty minutes earlier.
Patricia standing over Sophie’s crib.
Not smiling.
Not talking sweetly.
Whispering:
“Your father will understand eventually. You belong with family.”
Daniel’s face changed.
Then the video showed Patricia carrying Sophie into the bathroom.
Setting her in the shallow tub.
Walking out.
Locking the hallway door behind her.
And saying to someone on the phone:
“Give it two minutes. Emily always comes running.”
I froze.
Daniel froze too.
This had not been carelessness.
Patricia expected me to find Sophie.
She wanted me in that bathroom.
Then the recording caught the next line.
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“If she touches me first, Daniel will fire her tonight.”
Patricia had planned the entire scene.
