Chapter 4: The Camera That Never Died
The fear on Meliora's face lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
That was the problem.
Because people can fake anger.
They can fake sadness.
They can fake being hurt.
But fear appears before someone has time to control it.
And when I looked at my wife standing in that doorway, I knew one thing.
She knew about the camera.
"Where is it?"" I asked.
Meliora blinked.
"What?""
"The camera.""
Her expression hardened again.
"There is no camera.""
I stared at her.
"You told me it stopped working.""
"It did.""
"Then why did you look scared?""
"I didn't.""
"You did.""
She laughed.
A sharp, frustrated sound.
"You are really doing this?""
"Doing what?""
"Turning every little thing into proof that I'm some kind of monster.""
I didn't answer.
Because the more she talked, the more certain I became.
People who are innocent usually want the truth.
They want answers.
They want to clear their name.
Meliora wanted the conversation to disappear.
"Where is the camera?"" I asked again.
She crossed her arms.
"Garage.""
"Why?""
"Because it broke.""
"When?""
"A while ago.""
"How long?""
She hesitated.
"Months.""
Months.
Again.
Everything with her was months.
Months of secrets.
Months of things I should have noticed.
I looked at Kerensa.
She was watching us quietly.
Too quietly.
"Daddy?""
I turned.
"Yeah, sweetheart?""
"Are you mad?""
The question almost destroyed me.
Not because she was asking.
Because she had learned to ask.
"No, baby.""
"But everyone gets mad when I tell.""
My throat tightened.
"Not me.""
She looked toward Meliora.
Then back at me.
"I didn't break anything.""
"I know.""
"I didn't do anything bad.""
"I know.""
"I promise.""
I crouched in front of her.
"Kerensa, you don't have to prove you're good to me.""
Her eyes filled.
"I do.""
"Why?""
She whispered:
"Because Meliora says bad girls don't get believed.""
The room went silent.
Meliora immediately stepped forward.
"That's not what I said.""
I stood.
"Then what did you say?""
"I said actions have consequences.""
"She's four.""
"She understands more than you think.""
"No.""
My voice was quiet.
But firm.
"She understands fear.""
Meliora's face tightened.
"You've already decided.""
"Yes.""
She looked almost shocked.
"Just like that?""
I glanced at my daughter.
"After today?""
I shook my head.
"No. Not just today.""
Her eyes narrowed.
"What does that mean?""
"It means I've been ignoring things.""
For a moment, I thought she might apologize.
I thought maybe there was a chance.
Maybe hearing it out loud would break through whatever was happening.
But instead, she looked angry.
Not ashamed.
Angry.
"You think you're some hero now?""
"No.""
"Because you aren't.""
"I know.""
"You weren't here.""
The words hit because they were true.
"I worked.""
"You were gone.""
"I was providing for us.""
"I was raising her.""
"And you think that means you get to hurt her?""
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I picked up my phone.
"I want to see the camera footage.""
"There isn't any.""
"Then you won't mind helping me find out.""
She stepped in front of me.
"No.""
The answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
I stopped.
"Why not?""
"Because this is ridiculous.""
"No.""
I looked at her.
"This is the first reasonable thing I've done all day.""
She shook her head.
"You don't understand what you're doing.""
"Then explain.""
She didn't.
That was the third time.
She always had an explanation until I asked for details.
Then suddenly there was nothing.
I walked past her.
"Where is the garage key?""
She didn't move.
"Meliora.""
She stared at me.
Then slowly reached into her pocket and handed it over.
Her fingers were shaking.
That scared me more than anything else.
The garage smelled like dust and old cardboard.
I flipped on the light.
Boxes lined the walls.
Christmas decorations.
Old furniture.
Tools.
Things from our life together.
I looked around.
"Where is it?""
Meliora stayed near the doorway.
"I don't know.""
I turned.
"You don't know where something is in your own garage?""
She didn't answer.
I started searching.
Not quickly.
Carefully.
Because now every detail mattered.
After a few minutes, I saw it.
A small black camera sitting inside a box beneath old blankets.
I picked it up.
The lens wasn't cracked.
The wires weren't damaged.
It looked untouched.
I turned around.
"Funny.""
Meliora's face went pale.
"What?""
"This doesn't look broken.""
She swallowed.
"It must have been replaced.""
"By who?""
Silence.
I walked closer.
"Who replaced it?""
"I don't know.""
I looked at the camera.
Then at her.
"You lied.""
"No.""
"You told me it was broken.""
"It was.""
"When?""
"I don't remember.""
I laughed quietly.
Not because it was funny.
Because I finally understood.
She wasn't trying to convince me.
She was trying to make me doubt myself.
I plugged the camera into my laptop.
The screen stayed black for a moment.
Then files appeared.
Hundreds of recordings.
My hands went cold.
"How many months does this go back?""
Meliora didn't answer.
I clicked the oldest file.
The date appeared.
Six months earlier.
Six months.
I looked at her.
"You knew.""
She said nothing.
"You knew this was recording.""
"No.""
"Then why didn't you throw it away?""
"I didn't know.""
"Then why hide it?""
Her silence was enough.
I clicked the video.
The footage loaded.
The angle showed the hallway.
The exact hallway where Kerensa walked every day.
At first, nothing happened.
Just normal life.
Kerensa running past.
Meliora carrying laundry.
Me leaving for work.
Then the date changed.
Three months earlier.
The video showed Kerensa sitting on the floor.
Holding a coloring book.
Meliora walked into the hallway.
Even without sound, I could tell something was wrong.
Because Kerensa immediately stood up.
She immediately apologized.
Meliora said something.
The audio was faint.
I increased the volume.
And then I heard it.
"You're always making things difficult.""
I looked at Meliora.
She didn't move.
The video continued.
Kerensa held up her drawing.
Meliora looked at it.
Then took it from her.
She ripped it.
My stomach dropped.
Kerensa didn't scream.
She didn't fight.
She just stood there.
Like she had learned not to react.
The video continued.
Another day.
Another recording.
Another moment.
Kerensa spilling juice.
Meliora making her clean the entire floor while she stood watching.
Another.
Kerensa crying after falling.
Meliora telling her:
"Stop performing.""
Another.
Kerensa hiding behind the couch when Meliora entered the room.
I stopped the video.
I couldn't watch anymore.
Not because I didn't believe it.
Because I did.
Every second confirmed what my daughter had been trying to tell me.
I turned slowly.
Meliora was crying.
But I didn't know if it was guilt.
Or anger.
"Say something.""
She wiped her face.
"You don't understand.""
"Help me understand.""
"I was trying.""
"Trying what?""
"To make her stronger.""
I stared at her.
"You were breaking her.""
"No.""
"Yes.""
"You weren't there.""
"Stop saying that.""
"Because it's true!""
Her voice echoed through the garage.
"You left me alone with this.""
"This?""
"Her.""
I froze.
Not because she said it.
Because she meant it.
Meliora realized it too.
The words were already out.
She looked away.
"I didn't mean...""
But she did.
She absolutely did.
I closed the laptop.
"We're leaving.""
Her head snapped up.
"What?""
"Me and Kerensa.""
"No.""
"Yes.""
"You can't just take her.""
"I am her father.""
"And I am her mother.""
I looked at her.
"Right now, I don't know what you are.""
Her face twisted.
"You think you're protecting her?""
"Yes.""
"From me?""
I didn't answer.
Because the answer was obvious.
She stepped closer.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
And something strange happened.
She looked afraid again.
Not angry.
Not upset.
Afraid.
She answered.
"Hello?""
She listened.
Her face changed.
Then she whispered:
"That's impossible.""
I watched her carefully.
"Who is it?""
She ignored me.
The person on the other end said something.
And whatever they said made Meliora sit down.
Slowly.
Like her legs had stopped working.
Then she looked at me.
And said the one sentence I never expected to hear.
"It's not just me.""
My heart stopped.
"What?""
She lowered the phone.
"The person who sent you those messages...""
She looked toward the laptop.
Toward the recordings.
Toward everything we had just discovered.
"They've been watching this house too.""
I stared at her.
"Who?""
Meliora's lips trembled.
Then she said a name.
May you like
A name that made no sense.
Because that person was supposed to be dead.
