CHAPTER 3: The Hidden Folder Opens
My thumb froze above the screen.
The hospital room suddenly felt much smaller.
The soft beeping of Frederick's heart monitor was the only sound.
Amy sat beside our son's bed, her hands tightly clasped together.
She wouldn't look at me.
She already knew what I was about to see.
She had lived through it.
I had only heard about it.
Until now.
I pressed Play.
The recording began with an ordinary Tuesday morning.
The date in the corner of the screen read:
October 14.
Amy stood in the kitchen wearing sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, gently rocking three-month-old Frederick in her arms.
He was crying.
Not loudly.
Just the tired cry of a hungry baby.
My mother stormed into the room.
"What is all that noise?"
Amy answered softly.
"I think he's hungry."
Mother rolled her eyes.
"Then let him cry."
Amy looked confused.
"He hasn't eaten since five this morning."
"And?"
"He needs his bottle."
Mother snatched the bottle from the counter before Amy could reach it.
"No."
Amy's face changed.
"What are you doing?"
"You feed him too much."
"You're making him weak."
Amy stepped forward.
"Please..."
"Give him the bottle."
Instead...
My mother carried it to the sink.
She poured the entire bottle of formula down the drain.
Milk disappeared into the garbage disposal.
Frederick's crying grew louder.
Amy stood frozen.
"No..."
She whispered.
"Please don't."
Mother turned around calmly.
"You'll feed him when I decide."
I stopped breathing.
The next clip started only twenty minutes later.
Amy sat in the nursery, secretly breastfeeding Frederick.
The bedroom door burst open.
Mother stormed inside.
"What did I tell you?"
Amy looked terrified.
"He was starving."
Mother grabbed the baby's blanket and yanked it away.
"I said no."
Amy immediately shielded Frederick with her body.
"Please don't touch him."
Mother leaned closer.
"If Connor asks..."
"You'll tell him Frederick finished his bottle."
Amy whispered,
"But that's a lie."
Mother smiled.
"Exactly."
I paused the video.
My hands were shaking.
"This..."
I couldn't finish the sentence.
Amy quietly wiped away a tear.
"I tried to tell you."
"I know."
"No."
She shook her head.
"I tried dozens of times."
"I wrote letters."
"I sent messages."
"I even left voice mails."
I frowned.
"What messages?"
She looked at me sadly.
"She deleted them."
My stomach dropped.
"She had your tablet password."
"She checked your email."
"If I texted you..."
"She erased them before you got home."
Every explanation my mother had given me over the past year suddenly made sense.
"Amy's emotional."
"She forgot to answer."
"She's sleeping."
"She's overwhelmed."
Every excuse...
Had been another lie.
I continued watching.
The next videos were worse.
One showed my mother unlocking the cabinet where I kept emergency cash.
She counted several hundred-dollar bills.
Then placed the money into her purse.
Another recording captured her trying on diamond earrings.
She laughed into the mirror.
"My son works hard."
"I deserve nice things."
Another clip showed relatives loading coolers full of steaks, shrimp, expensive liquor, and groceries into their cars.
Everything had been purchased using the money I sent for my family.
Meanwhile...
Amy ate instant noodles.
Or skipped meals altogether.
Then came the recording that broke me.
It had been filmed only three weeks earlier.
Amy sat at the dining table trying to eat breakfast.
Two slices of toast.
One scrambled egg.
That was all.
She had barely taken two bites when Frederick began crying upstairs.
She immediately stood.
Mother stepped in front of her.
"No."
Amy looked confused.
"He needs me."
Mother picked up Amy's plate.
"If you leave the table..."
"You don't deserve breakfast."
Amy hesitated.
Frederick cried louder.
Without another word...
Amy ran upstairs.
Mother smiled.
Then calmly dumped Amy's untouched breakfast into the trash.
I slammed my fist onto the hospital chair.
The metal frame rattled.
A nurse passing outside glanced into the room.
I immediately lowered my voice.
Amy gently placed her hand over mine.
"Connor..."
"I'm sorry."
I stared at her.
"Why are you apologizing?"
She looked down.
"I thought if I endured it..."
"You wouldn't have to choose between us."
My chest tightened.
"You should never have had to endure any of this."
There were more than two hundred videos.
Each one revealed another lie.
Another humiliation.
Another act of cruelty.
The timestamps stretched back almost an entire year.
Amy hadn't been collecting evidence because she wanted revenge.
She had been documenting everything because she feared one day no one would believe her.
She wanted proof.
Not pity.
Then I reached the final file.
Unlike the others...
It wasn't labeled by date.
It simply read:
DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU'RE READY
I looked at Amy.
"What is this?"
Her face turned pale.
"I found it by accident."
"What is it?"
She swallowed hard.
"I think..."
"...it's the reason your mother never wanted you checking the security cameras."
I opened the file.
The video quality was different.
Higher resolution.
It came directly from our home's security system.
The timestamp read:
Three weeks ago.
The front door opened.
I watched myself leave for work.
Exactly five minutes later...
My mother's smile disappeared.
She locked every door in the house.
Closed every curtain.
Then she turned toward Amy.
The expression on her face...
Was one I had never seen before.
Cold.
Cruel.
Almost unrecognizable.
She walked slowly toward Amy and said,
"Now that Connor's gone..."
"You'll remember who owns this house."
Amy instinctively stepped backward while holding Frederick.
Then...
Without warning...
My mother slapped her across the face.
The force nearly knocked Amy to the floor.
Frederick began screaming.
I stared at the screen in horror.
My own mother.
The woman I had trusted with my family.
Had struck my wife while she was holding our infant son.
But the slap...
Wasn't the worst part.
Because what happened thirty seconds later...
May you like
Would turn this from a family tragedy...
Into a criminal investigation.
