There were twelve.
Most showed nothing more than darkness, tree branches moving, or the occasional moth passing the lens.
But the ninth clip made Dad sit down.
At 12:41 a.m., my stepmother came outside again.
This time, she wasn’t alone.
Dad appeared behind her.
I looked at him.
He looked back at the screen.
In the recording, my stepmother pointed toward the bassinet and said something too faint for the monitor to capture clearly. Dad answered. Then both of them disappeared back into the house.
“I don’t remember that,” Dad whispered.
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