Every night, my husband would go to sleep in our daughter’s room: at first, I didn’t pay any attention to it, but one day I decided to hide the camera in her room.

The couch was empty. The kitchen was dark. The house was too quiet.

And then I noticed a sliver of light under Emma’s door.

I peered inside. Max was lying next to her, his arm around her shoulders, as if he’d been there for a long time.

“Max?” I called softly.

He shuddered and opened his eyes.

“She had another nightmare. I just wanted to be with her,” he said calmly.