My husband slept in our daughter’s room every night. I didn’t give it much thought at first, but one day I chose to place a camera in her room, and when I saw the footage, I was so horrified that I almost passed out
I’ve always thought of myself as a decent mom. I made a self-promise after my first divorce to never let anyone harm my kid again. I tried to manage anything that could have any impact on her because she was my entire concern.
Max came into our lives three years later. He was fifteen years older than me, composed, and compassionate. As though Emma were his own daughter, he showed her great love and care. For the first time in a long time, I wondered whether this was the peaceful, secure appearance of a true home.
Emma turned seven last spring. She struggled with sleep from a young age. She would frequently wake up in the middle of the night, trembling, crying, and occasionally sleepwalking. Sometimes she would just sit up in bed and look out into the hallway, as though she saw someone. I attributed everything to her troubled history and believed that love would eventually make things right.
However, things didn’t improve.
A few months later, I started to notice something odd. Max would get out of our bed at midnight almost every night. The same thing he murmured over and over again was that his back hurt and that the couch would be more comfortable. Up until the night I woke up and couldn’t find him anywhere, I did believe him.
There was no one on the couch. It was dark in the kitchen. The house is too silent.
Then I saw a strip of light beneath Emma’s door.
I peered inside. Max appeared to have been lying beside her for a considerable amount of time, with his arm across her shoulders.
— Max? — I whispered.
He opened his eyes in surprise.
— Another horror struck her. Calmly, he said, “I just wanted to stay close to her.”
Everything sounded fine in words. similar to care. like a nice person’s deed. However, I felt like something was screaming inside of me, “This is wrong.”
The following day, I purchased a little hidden camera and placed it in Emma’s room, high up, where no one would think to check, without telling anyone.
I flipped on the recording a couple of days later. In fear, I froze
Emma abruptly sat up in bed in the video. Her eyes were wide open, but she seemed to be looking through the walls rather than at them. She was muttering something into the darkness, her lips moving.
Max answered softly, his lips hardly moving as he leaned in her direction. It appeared as though they were speaking to a third, unseen someone from the outside.
A shiver went through me. I listened to the recording repeatedly throughout the night and didn’t sleep. I spoke with Max in the morning.
And I heard the truth, which only made my suffering worse rather than better. As it happened, Emma had been having terrible dreams for a few nights, waking up weeping and unable to go back to sleep. Max just went to her so she wouldn’t feel scared or alone.
I informed him that this was unacceptable. This approach was incorrect, regardless of the noble intentions. We had to think of something else.
I scheduled Emma’s visit with a child psychologist for the following day. I was determined to find out what was wrong with my daughter and the source of her night terrors.
