Chapter 3 - The File That Wouldn’t Stay Deleted
By breakfast, Vanessa acted as if nothing had happened.
She poured coffee in the sunlit kitchen while Noah pushed blueberries around his tray and Mia hummed to herself.
“Sleep well?” Vanessa asked.
Sarah did not answer.
At nine, Vanessa left for a charity planning meeting.
Sarah waited until the front gate closed, then carried her laptop into Daniel’s home office.
She had no password for the security server, but Daniel had once shown her how to download emergency footage if the children were injured.
The local backup drive was hidden in a cabinet under the desk.
Sarah connected it.
Folders appeared by date.
Last night’s folder was empty.
She searched older dates.
Every night at exactly 2:13 a.m., there was a gap between three and five minutes.
For twenty-one nights.
Sarah’s mouth went dry.
The twins had been waking at that hour for nearly a month.
She opened the earliest file.
At 2:12, both babies were asleep.
The image flickered.
A shape appeared beside Noah’s crib.
Then the screen went black.
Sarah leaned closer.
Just before the blackout, she saw part of a hand.
A woman’s hand.
On the wrist was a thin silver bracelet with a small moon charm.
Sarah had seen that bracelet before.
Not in the house.
In a framed photograph on Daniel’s bedside table.
Emily wore it on her wedding day.
Sarah’s pulse hammered.
She copied the frame to a private folder and emailed it to herself.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Sarah spun around.
Vanessa stood in the office doorway.
The charity meeting should have lasted three hours.
She had been gone twenty-six minutes.
“What are you doing?” Vanessa asked.
Sarah closed the laptop.
“Checking the camera system.”
Vanessa glanced at the backup drive.
“No. You were looking for something.”
She stepped into the office and shut the door.
Sarah stood.
Vanessa’s voice dropped.
“Whatever you think you saw last night, forget it.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel has already buried one wife.”
Sarah felt the air leave the room.
May you like
Vanessa smiled without warmth.
“And if you keep digging,” she said, “he may have to bury a nanny too.”
