Chapter 2

I put the frame back exactly where it had been.

My hands shook so badly that I had to adjust it three times before the angle looked right.

Then I sat on the couch.

Pretended to scroll through my phone.

Pretended to be bored.

Pretended I had not just discovered that someone had been watching me inside my own home.

When I finally trusted my legs, I walked into the bathroom and locked the door.

That was where I let myself shake.

The first person I contacted was my coworker Nora.

She was the only close friend I had who had no connection to Wesley’s family.

Can we meet tomorrow somewhere private? I wrote. I can’t explain by text.

Her reply came instantly.

Of course. Are you safe right now?

I stared at that question.

Are you safe?

Until then, I had thought of the situation as strange.

Creepy.

Humiliating.

That question gave it another name.

Dangerous.

Before bed, I photographed the frame from every angle.

Thirty pictures.

Close-ups of the lens.

The microphone hole.

The casing.

Then I emailed them to myself with the date and time in the subject line.

The next day, Nora and I met at a quiet tea shop.

I told her everything.

Talia’s screenshot.

The disappearing message.

The secret name.

Marlene’s comments.

The grape juice.

The frame.

Nora listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she reached across the table.

“Fevan, this is real.”

I started crying.

“You are not imagining this. And you are not overreacting.”

She knew a security technician named Omar.

He agreed to meet us the next afternoon.

Within two minutes of examining the frame, he looked up.

“It’s a covert camera.”

My stomach tightened.

“And a microphone.”

He carefully opened the casing.

Inside was a tiny circuit board, lens, storage slot, and wireless module.

“It can record locally, stream through Wi-Fi, or both.”

“How far can it see?”

“Depends on the lens. Fifteen or twenty feet easily.”

The couch.

Hallway.

Kitchen.

All visible.

“How long could it have been recording?”

“As long as it’s been powered.”

I nearly vomited.

Omar set the frame down.

“Do not log into the app.”

“I don’t know the app.”

“Good. Don’t unplug it dramatically either. Whoever controls it could get an alert.”

Nora said quietly, “She needs a lawyer.”

Omar nodded.

“Yes.”

That afternoon, I found an attorney named Simone Brooks who specialized in privacy and harassment cases.

My consultation was Friday.

While waiting, I started documenting everything.

Dates.

Visits.

Messages.

Comments.

The frame.

Then I remembered Marlene had given us other gifts.

I went through the apartment.

A ceramic bird.

Normal.

A decorative key box.

Normal.

A small entry lamp.

Not normal.

There was an unnecessary slot in the base.

I took that too.

At the forensic shop Omar recommended, the technician promised they could examine both devices without connecting them to any network.

Then I requested security footage from our apartment building.

A neighbor named Terrence gave me another piece.

He had seen an older woman sitting alone in the parking garage several times late at night.

Engine off.

Sometimes for nearly an hour.

He described Marlene perfectly.

The forensic report arrived Friday afternoon.

The frame had been actively connected to an account registered to Marlene.

It had stored roughly four months of footage.

The lamp contained an audio device.

Marlene had not just watched.

She had listened.

I sent the report to Simone.

Then I went home to tell Wesley.

He sat silently while I showed him everything.

The lens.

The microphone.

The account registration.

The timeline.

He turned pale.

Finally, he whispered, “That’s Mom’s frame.”

“I know.”

“She told me to keep it plugged in.”

My chest tightened.

He put both hands over his face.

Then came the question I feared.

“Can I talk to her first?”

I stared at him.

“Before police. Before lawyers. Please.”

Something hot went through me.

“She watched me for four months.”

“I know.”

“She listened to us.”

“I know.”

“She knew I took a pregnancy test because she watched me throw the box away.”

“I know.”

“And your first concern is protecting her?”

“No. I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

We fought for nearly two hours.

He said he needed one chance to confront her privately.

I said I had already given his family weeks of benefit of the doubt.

Eventually, we reached a compromise.

Locks changed immediately.

No family keys.

No unannounced visits.

Every gift from Marlene removed.

And if she lied, crossed another boundary, or tried to contact me after being told not to, we would involve police.

No delay.

No negotiation.

The locks were changed the next morning.

Wesley called Marlene and told her she could no longer enter our apartment without permission.

I heard her crying through the phone.

His voice shook.

But he held the boundary.

The next day, he met her alone.

He returned three hours later looking exhausted.

“She denied everything.”

I said nothing.

“Then I showed her the forensic report.”

“And?”

“She said she was protecting me.”

“From what?”

“You.”

I almost laughed.

He continued.

“She said she had to know whether you were good enough.”

My hands clenched.

“Then she said you turned me against her.”

Of course.

Wesley looked at me.

“There’s something else.”

“What?”

“She kept calling you Fern.”

The room seemed to shrink.

“Even after I corrected her. I said your name is Fevan. She just kept saying Fern.”

I asked the question that had been sitting inside me for weeks.

“Who is Fern?”

Wesley went still.

Then he stood.

“I need to call my dad.”

Twenty minutes later, his father Warren arrived.

He sat at our kitchen table like a man carrying something heavy.

Then he told me the story nobody had thought I deserved to know.

Fern had been Wesley’s little sister.

She died when she was nine.

The girl in yellow.

The child in the photo frame.