Chapter 6 - The Story My Mother Told
The petition said Savannah was violent, unstable, and a danger to my mother.
It said Savannah had "thrown herself to the floor" during an argument and threatened to blame Bernice for losing the baby.
It said my mother feared for her safety.
I read the page twice because the first time my brain refused to accept it.
"She filed this today?"
The process server nodded. "Hearing information is on the last page."
Savannah went pale.
"She's making a record," she whispered.
"Of what?"
"Of me being unstable. Just like the guardianship paper."
My mother wasn't reacting. She was building something.
That realization scared me more than her shouting ever had.
I called a lawyer that night. Not one from the family firm. Someone my mother didn't know.
Her name was Dana Cole, and she listened without interrupting as I explained the forged signature, the recording, the notes, the bruises, and the new petition.
"Do not delete anything," she said. "Back up every message, every recording, every photo. Also, stop speaking to your mother by phone unless your attorney advises otherwise. Written communication only."
"Can she really do this?"
"She can file things. Filing and proving are different."
Dana asked if we had cameras at home.
"A doorbell camera. And an old indoor camera in the nursery. We stopped using it months ago."
Savannah suddenly looked at me.
"The nursery camera."
"What?"
"Your mom unplugged it. She said it made her uncomfortable."
I opened the camera app.
Offline.
But there was cloud storage.
I logged into the old account and found clips from months earlier, before the camera had been disconnected.
Most were useless—us painting the nursery, carrying boxes, laughing over a crooked shelf.
Then I saw a thumbnail dated February 12.
Mom stood alone in the nursery.
She was opening drawers.
I tapped play.
For three minutes she searched through baby clothes and paperwork. Then she pulled something from her purse and slid it beneath a stack of medical folders.
"What is that?" Savannah whispered.
I froze the video and zoomed in.
It was a small digital voice recorder.
Savannah stared at me.
"She planted a recorder in our baby's room."
The clip continued.
Mom looked directly toward the camera.
Then she reached up.
The screen went black.
May you like
But not before she said something.
Something meant for no one to hear.
