‘Who usually takes care of your baby during the day?’ the doctor asked with a tense voice. I replied, ‘My mother-in-law. Why?’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Don’t confront her yet. Just… install a camera.’ The next day, I watched the footage—and I dropped to the floor, screaming.
‘Who usually takes care of your baby during the day?’ the doctor asked with a tense voice. I replied, ‘My mother-in-law. Why?’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Don’t confront her yet. Just… install a camera.’ The next day, I watched the footage—and I dropped to the floor, screaming.
At my baby’s three-month checkup, I thought the worst thing I’d hear was that Ethan wasn’t gaining enough weight. I was already exhausted, juggling a full-time job and new motherhood. When Dr. Harris finished the exam, he frowned slightly and asked the nurse to step outside.
“Mrs. Collins,” he said, standing up, “I need to speak with you privately.”
My stomach tightened.
He led me into a small consultation room and closed the door. His voice dropped. “This is urgent. Who usually takes care of your baby during the day?”
“I work,” I answered. “My mother-in-law, Linda, watches him. She lives with us.”
Dr. Harris didn’t look relieved. He looked alarmed.
“I’m going to be very careful with my words,” he said. “Your son has repeated stress indicators. Bruising patterns that don’t match accidental handling. And elevated cortisol levels—signs of prolonged distress.”
I felt dizzy. “Are you saying… someone is hurting my baby?”
“I’m saying,” he replied slowly, “that something is very wrong. And I need you to install a hidden camera immediately. Do not confront anyone. Do not warn anyone.”
“Why?” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “Because if my suspicion is correct, confronting them could put Ethan in more danger.”
I left the hospital barely remembering how I got to my car.
That night, I installed a tiny hidden camera disguised as a smoke detector in the nursery. My hands shook as I adjusted the angle. Linda was in the kitchen, humming cheerfully, talking about how lucky Ethan was to have her.
The next day, I went to work but barely focused. At lunch, I opened the app.
The footage loaded.
At first, everything looked normal. Linda rocking Ethan. Feeding him. Smiling.
Then the smile faded.
She placed him in the crib harder than necessary. He cried. She didn’t pick him up.
Instead, she leaned over the crib and hissed, “Stop it. You’re just like your mother.”
My chest tightened.
Minutes passed. He screamed. She stood there, arms crossed.
Then she did something that made my vision blur.
She pinched his thigh. Hard.
Ethan wailed.
Linda looked directly up at the camera and smiled.
I collapsed onto the floor of my office bathroom, phone clattering from my hands.
Because in that moment, I understood.
This wasn’t neglect.
It was intentional..
