Chapter 2 - WHAT JUNIPER HEARDI didn't sleep that night.
Juniper did.
She slept curled against my side, one hand gripping the collar of my shirt like she was afraid I'd disappear.
Every few minutes, I checked her breathing.
Normal.
Steady.
Alive.
That was all that mattered.
But the words kept replaying in my head.
Make me disappear.
At 2:13 a.m., I got out of bed.
I walked to the kitchen.
The sealed inhaler was still on the counter.
I had put it inside a plastic evidence bag.
Not because I understood what was happening.
Because some instinct told me not to touch it.
Willa entered behind me.
“She needs to know what happened someday,” she said.
I turned.
“Tell me now.”
Willa looked toward the hallway.
“Not here.”
We went into the garage.
She closed the door.
Then she handed me her phone.
“I started recording because I didn't trust Tabitha.”
“Why?”
Willa hesitated.
“Three weeks ago, I found Juniper's medical bag in the downstairs bathroom.”
“That doesn't sound strange.”
“It does when your sister has been telling everyone she never touches it.”
I stared at her.
Willa continued.
“I noticed the inhaler counter was lower than it should've been.”
My jaw tightened.
“I asked Tabitha about it.”
“What did she say?”
“That Juniper must have used it more than you realized.”
“But you knew she hadn't.”
Willa nodded.
“I checked the security camera.”
My heart pounded.
“What did you see?”
“Tabitha taking it.”
I felt sick.
“How many times?”
Willa looked away.
“Seven.”
Seven.
Seven times my daughter had been left without the medicine she needed.
Seven times.
I thought of every night I'd worked late.
Every afternoon I'd left her with family.
Every time Tabitha had told me, She's doing great.
I had believed her.
Then Willa showed me a second recording.
It was timestamped six days earlier.
Tabitha entered Juniper's room.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
Juniper was coloring.
“Does Daddy tell you everything?” Tabitha asked.
Juniper shook her head.
“Good.”
My skin prickled.
Tabitha leaned closer.
“Because some things are grown-up secrets.”
Juniper looked frightened.
“What kind?”
“The kind that keep families together.”
I stopped the video.
“Why would she say that?”
Willa looked at me.
“Watch the next part.”
I pressed play.
Tabitha took a photograph from her pocket.
It showed me standing outside a hospital.
She held it in front of Juniper.
“This is Daddy's mistake.”
Juniper frowned.
“What mistake?”
“You'll understand later.”
Then Tabitha put the picture away.
“If Daddy ever asks you about your medicine, you tell him you lost it.”
The video ended.
My hands were shaking.
“Where did this come from?”
“Cameras in the house.”
I looked at her.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“Who installed them?”
Willa hesitated.
“Your father.”
My blood ran cold.
At that exact moment, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One text.
STOP LOOKING INTO THE INHALER.
A second message appeared.
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR DAUGHTER SAW.
Then a photograph loaded.
It was Juniper.
Sleeping.
Taken that night.
From inside my house.
May you like
I looked up toward the ceiling.
Someone was still watching us.
