Chapter 3: The Camera in My Room
I couldn't feel my hands.
The photograph slipped slightly between my fingers.
Someone had been watching me.
Not guessing.
Not assuming.
Watching.
Dad took the picture from me carefully.
“Where did this come from?””
I shook my head.
“I don't know.””
But deep down, I did.
Nicole.
There was only one person who knew about the box.
Only one person who had always known exactly what I was doing.
Dad walked through the house room by room.
“Maya, stay here.””
I hated those words.
Stay here.
Wait.
Be quiet.
They were the words my entire life had been built around.
But this time, I followed him.
We searched.
The living room.
The kitchen.
The hallway.
Then Dad stopped outside my bedroom.
He looked at the bookshelf.
A small black object sat between two old novels.
My stomach dropped.
Dad reached for it.
A camera.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
He stared at it like he couldn't believe what he was holding.
“Nicole.””
His voice was quiet.
That was when I knew he was truly angry.
Not loud angry.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that comes after someone has finally run out of excuses.
Nicole came home an hour later.
Dad was waiting at the kitchen table.
The camera sat in front of him.
She stopped.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
“You knew,” Dad said.
Nicole placed her keys down.
“Marcus—”
“You knew.””
She sighed.
“Fine. Yes.””
My chest tightened.
“You put a camera in my room?””
She looked at me.
“It wasn't like that.””
“What was it like?”” Dad asked.
She sat down.
“I was trying to understand her behavior.””
Dad laughed once.
A cold, painful sound.
“You monitored my daughter.””
“I was protecting this family.””
“No,” he said.
“You were controlling her.””
Nicole's face hardened.
“You don't know what it's like living with her.””
I felt something inside me break.
Living with me?
Like I was the problem.
Dad stood.
“She was starving.””
“She was exaggerating.””
“She had a box of emergency food.””
“She’s manipulative.””
I flinched.
Dad noticed.
And that made him angrier.
“You called my daughter manipulative?””
Nicole looked away.
The next few days were a blur.
Dad contacted people who could help.
School counselors.
Family services.
Anyone who could explain what had happened and what needed to happen next.
For the first time in years, adults were asking me questions and actually waiting for my answers.
Not telling me what I felt.
Not telling me what happened.
Listening.
But Nicole wasn't finished.
One evening, she called Dad while I was sitting beside him.
He put the phone on speaker.
Her voice sounded different.
Softer.
Almost emotional.
“Marcus, I know I made mistakes.””
Dad didn't respond.
“I just want my family back.””
I stared at the phone.
Family.
That word felt strange coming from her.
Dad said:
“You need to explain why you did those things.””
There was silence.
Then Nicole whispered:
“Because Maya isn't your only child.””
My heart stopped.
Dad looked confused.
“What does that mean?””
Nicole's voice changed.
“You never wondered why she was so difficult?””
I stood.
“Dad, hang up.””
But he didn't.
Because Nicole continued.
“She has been hiding things from you for years.””
Dad looked at me.
And suddenly, I was scared again.
Not because I had done anything wrong.
But because I knew what Nicole was trying to do.
She was changing the story.
Making me the villain.
Then she said the one thing I never expected.
“Maya knows the truth about her mother.””
The room went silent.
Dad slowly looked at me.
“Maya?””
I couldn't speak.
Because there was one secret I had kept hidden.
May you like
One thing Nicole had used against me every day.
And now Dad was finally going to find out.
