Chapter 3 - The Forgotten Clip
When I installed the security grid, I had placed a small, motion-activated backup camera disguised as a digital clock on the shelf above the washing machine in the laundry room. I had done it because my mother frequently complained that the cleaning staff was siphoning household supplies, and she wanted proof.
I tapped the laundry room feed from 2:44 p.m.
The video loaded in crisp, 4K resolution. The door burst open, and Rebecca threw Lily inside. Lily stumbled against the dryer, crying out in terror.
"Shut up!" Rebecca screamed, her face contorted in a mask of pure, unbridled rage. "You’re just like your mother. Always looking for attention, always playing the victim. Your father doesn't love you; he just feels guilty because he couldn't save Claire."
Lily hid her face in her hands, sobbing, "I want my daddy! Daddy!"
"Your daddy isn't here to protect you from me," Rebecca hissed.
Then, the audio captured a sharp, sickening slap. The force of the blow knocked Lily off her feet, sending her sliding into the narrow gap between the washing machine and the concrete wall. Rebecca stood over her for a long second, breathing heavily, before straightening her dress and walking out, locking the door from the outside.
My breath hitched in my throat. The room seemed to tilt beneath my boots.
But the video didn't end there.
Two minutes later, the laundry room door opened again. This time, it wasn't Rebecca. It was my mother and father.
They walked into the room, looking down at Lily, who was still curled behind the machine, trembling. My father didn't offer to pick her up. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a white cloth, and thoroughly wiped down the door handle and the edge of the dryer.
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"We need to get the guests out of the yard before Daniel notices she's gone," my mother whispered, her voice tight with panic. "If he sees her face, he'll kill Rebecca."
"Rebecca is an idiot," my father muttered, checking the hallway before turning back to my mother. "Tell the neighbors Lily had an allergic reaction to the icing and fell into the planter. If anyone asks about the noise, it was the bounce house generator. We control the narrative, Helen. We always do."
