Chapter 2
My father stared at me as though he had misheard.
"What do you mean the camera doesn't belong to us?"
I couldn't stop shaking.
Denise stood near the dining room entrance, her expression frozen between anger and fear.
For four years, she had controlled almost everything that happened when Dad wasn't home.
But now he was standing beside me.
And for the first time, I was about to tell him something she couldn't explain away.
"The camera upstairs," I whispered. "The little black one above my bedroom door."
Dad frowned.
"We don't have a camera above your door."
I nodded.
"I know."
His eyes moved toward Denise.
"Explain."
She immediately shook her head.
"Marcus, she's confused."
"I'm not confused," I whispered.
Denise pointed at me.
"Enough, Maya!"
Dad stepped forward.
"Don't raise your voice at her."
Then he turned toward Aunt Lorraine.
"Please take Maya into the living room."
I grabbed his arm.
"No!"
He looked startled.
"Baby?"
"Please don't leave me alone with anyone."
The words came out before I could stop them.
I hadn't meant to say them so loudly.
But once they were spoken, I couldn't take them back.
Dad's expression crumbled.
He knelt in front of me.
"Has somebody else hurt you?"
I stared at the floor.
My heart was pounding.
The guests were watching.
Denise was watching.
And I knew that every word I said could change my life.
"I don't know who I can trust anymore."
Dad closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, his voice was steady.
"Then you stay with me."
He stood and addressed the table.
"Dinner is over. Everyone needs to leave."
Aunt Lorraine rose immediately.
"Marcus, perhaps we should discuss this calmly."
He looked at her.
"Did you see Denise hit my daughter?"
She hesitated.
Then she nodded.
"Yes."
"Did you try to stop her?"
Lorraine lowered her eyes.
"No."
Dad took a slow breath.
"Then we have nothing to discuss tonight."
Several relatives began collecting their coats.
Nobody argued.
Nobody asked for dessert.
The same people who had praised Denise's hospitality fifteen minutes earlier now avoided looking at me.
One by one, they left.
Except Aunt Lorraine.
She lingered beside the doorway.
"Marcus, I need to tell you something."
Dad looked at her.
"Not now."
"It's important."
I watched her fingers tighten around her handbag.
"Denise told us Maya was having behavioral problems."
My father's face hardened.
"What problems?"
Lorraine glanced at me.
"She said Maya had become dishonest. That she was stealing things and refusing to follow rules."
My stomach dropped.
"I never stole anything!"
Dad immediately squeezed my shoulder.
"I believe you."
Aunt Lorraine looked ashamed.
"She told us the school counselor recommended strict discipline."
I shook my head.
"That's not true."
Dad looked at his sister.
"Did you speak to the counselor?"
"No."
"Did you speak to Maya?"
Lorraine's eyes filled.
"No."
"Then why did you believe it?"
She had no answer.
Dad looked toward the front door.
"I need you to leave."
Lorraine nodded slowly.
Before walking away, she looked at me.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart."
I didn't respond.
I wasn't ready.
After the door closed, Dad turned toward Denise.
"Show me the camera."
She folded her arms.
"There is no camera."
I stared at her.
She was lying.
Again.
Dad looked down at me.
"Can you show me where it is?"
I nodded.
We climbed the stairs together.
My legs felt weak.
Every step reminded me of the nights I had walked this hallway while listening for Denise's footsteps.
At the top, I stopped outside my bedroom.
There, partially hidden behind a decorative ceiling panel, was a small black camera.
Dad stared at it.
"What the hell?"
He moved closer without touching it.
A tiny indicator light blinked.
Denise rushed up the stairs behind us.
"Marcus, leave it alone."
He turned.
"Who installed this?"
"It's part of the security system."
"No, it isn't."
He pointed toward the device.
"I installed our security system myself. That camera isn't connected to it."
Denise opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Dad took out his phone and photographed the device.
Then he called the police.
Denise's face changed.
"You're calling the police on your wife?"
"I'm reporting an unauthorized camera outside my daughter's bedroom and the fact that you struck her."
She stepped toward him.
"You're making a terrible mistake."
He held up his hand.
"Stay back."
I stood against the wall, trembling.
The camera stared down at me.
For months, I had felt as though somebody was always watching.
Now Dad could finally see why.
The officers arrived twenty minutes later.
One spoke with Dad.
Another asked me whether I felt comfortable explaining what happened.
I looked at my father.
He nodded.
"You can tell the truth."
So I did.
I explained that Denise had installed the camera after my sixteenth birthday.
She told me it was connected to an online behavioral monitoring service.
She said strangers could review my conduct and send reports about whether I was obeying household rules.
I never saw the reports.
I only saw the punishments.
Sometimes Denise told me somebody had watched me break a rule.
Sometimes she claimed there was video proving I had lied.
I began feeling afraid even when I was alone.
The officer listened carefully.
"Did Denise ever tell you who could access the footage?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Did she show you the recordings?"
"Only once."
Dad looked at me.
"What did she show you?"
I swallowed.
"A video of me crying."
My father's face went pale.
"Why?"
"She said I looked ridiculous and that nobody would believe me if I acted like that."
He turned away.
For a moment, I thought he might start shouting again.
Instead, he took a deep breath and sat beside me.
The officer asked whether there were any other devices.
I nodded.
"There's another one in the laundry room."
Denise suddenly spoke.
"She's making this up!"
The officer looked at her.
"Ma'am, please allow her to finish."
I swallowed.
"And one in the storage room behind the kitchen."
Dad stared at me.
"Why would there be a camera there?"
I couldn't answer.
Not immediately.
Because that was the room where Denise sent me whenever she decided I had embarrassed her.
Sometimes for an hour.
Sometimes longer.
She called it the reflection room.
I called it the place where nobody could hear me.
Finally, I whispered, "Because that's where she made me stay when I was bad."
Dad gripped my hand.
"How long?"
I looked at him.
"Sometimes until you came home."
His eyes filled with tears.
"I thought you were studying upstairs."
I nodded.
"That's what she told you."
The officer wrote something down.
Then Dad asked the question I had been dreading.
"Who owns the cameras?"
I stared toward Denise.
She looked terrified.
I swallowed.
"Her brother."
Dad went completely still.
"Victor?"
I nodded.
Victor was Denise's younger brother.
He worked in private security.
He had visited our house several times during the past year.
He always smiled at Dad.
He always brought Denise expensive gifts.
And whenever he saw me, he called me a difficult little girl.
Dad looked toward his wife.
"Why does Victor have cameras inside my house?"
Denise said nothing.
Then the officer's radio crackled.
Another officer had found something in the downstairs storage room.
Dad stood immediately.
"What?"
The officer looked serious.
"Mr. Carter, we need you to come downstairs."
I clung to my father's hand.
He looked at me.
"You're staying with me."
We walked down together.
The storage room door stood open.
Inside were boxes, cleaning supplies, and the narrow wooden chair where Denise sometimes made me sit.
But the officer wasn't looking at the chair.
He was holding a small metal box.
Inside were several flash drives.
Each had a date written on it.
May you like
And one label made my father's face go white.
MAYA — FINAL REPORT.
