I wish more than anything that I’d been overreacting — that my worry was just stress getting the better of me.

But I wasn’t imagining things. I wasn’t wrong. And I would trade anything to have been.

My name is Martha, and I have a four-year-old daughter, Beverly.

My husband, Jason, and I both work full-time, so Beverly usually goes to daycare during the week.

It isn’t ideal, and I always carry guilt about it, but she was happy, making friends, thriving.

“She’s fine, Martha,” Jason told me one morning as we packed Beverly’s lunch.

“I know, but I don’t want her to feel like we’re pushing her away,” I admitted.

A month ago, my mother-in-law, Cheryl, offered to help in a way that sounded almost too good to be true.

“Why don’t I watch Beverly on Wednesdays?” she suggested over dinner. “She can get a break from daycare, and we can have some quality grandma time. It’ll be good for her.”

I hesitated, partly because Cheryl and I had never had the warmest relationship. There was always something critical in her tone, even if unspoken.

Still, she seemed sincere — and it meant Beverly could stay close to family while saving us some daycare expenses.

Part of me was genuinely relieved. I agreed.
At first, everything seemed fine.

But then Beverly’s behavior began to change in unsettling ways.

One evening, she pushed away the dinner I’d made, announcing, “I only want to eat with Daddy, Grandma, and her friend today.”

I paused.

“Who’s Grandma’s friend, sweetheart?” I asked, puzzled.

She just smiled a strange, secretive smile.

I thought maybe she’d made up an imaginary friend, but she kept mentioning “Grandma’s friend,” and gradually became more distant toward me.

One night, as I tucked her into bed, she clutched her unicorn toy and whispered, “Mommy, why don’t you like our friend?”

A chill went through me.

“Who told you I don’t like your friend?”

She bit her lip, then repeated, almost like reciting lines, “Our friend is family, Mommy. You just don’t see it yet.”

It was unnatural. Rehearsed.

My instincts told me something was very, very wrong.

That Saturday, Cheryl came over for breakfast. Jason and Bev were in the kitchen flipping pancakes.

“Has Beverly made any new friends lately? Maybe at the park?” I asked casually.

Cheryl didn’t look up from her coffee.

“Oh, she’s always making up imaginary friends. You know how kids are,” she said, a little too easily.

My gut twisted. I didn’t buy it.

That night, I made a decision that made me feel sick: I reinstalled a small hidden camera we had from Beverly’s baby days, back when we’d briefly had a night nanny.

I had to know what was going on.

Wednesday came. I left snacks for them, then went to work as if nothing was wrong. My nerves were a wreck.

By lunchtime, I couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled up the camera feed on my phone.

Everything looked normal at first. Beverly was playing with dolls, and Cheryl was sipping tea.

Then Cheryl looked at her watch and smiled.
“Bev, sweetheart, are you ready? Our friend will be here any minute!”

My heart started pounding.

“Yes, Gran! I love her! Do you think she’ll play with my hair again?”

Her.

“If you ask nicely, I’m sure she will,” Cheryl replied. Then, leaning closer, “Remember what we don’t tell Mommy?”

Beverly nodded, serious.

“Not a word to Mom.”

My blood ran cold.

A moment later, the doorbell chimed. Cheryl calmly went to answer it, smoothing her hair.

I couldn’t breathe as the woman stepped through the door.

Jason’s ex-wife.

Alexa.

The woman Jason had left years ago. The one I’d been told had moved far away for a fresh start.

Beverly ran straight into her arms.
I don’t remember grabbing my keys or getting to the car. One moment I was at my desk, the next I was flying home, barely seeing the road.

I burst into the house, slamming the door against the wall.

There they were, all three of them on the couch. Like some twisted family portrait.

Alexa actually looked surprised to see me.

“Oh. Hi, Martha,” she said mildly, as though I were the intruder.

“What the hell is she doing here?” I demanded, my voice shaking.

Beverly looked up innocently.

“Mommy, why are you ruining the union?”

Union?

Cheryl sighed like I was being silly.

“You really are slow sometimes, Martha,” she said coldly.

“What union?” I snapped.

Alexa shifted, looking embarrassed.
“I… Cheryl thought I should see Beverly,” she began.

Cheryl cut her off.

“Martha, face facts. You were never meant to be here. Alexa was supposed to be with Jason. You’re a mistake.

Beverly deserves a real family, and Alexa is willing to stay home with her. Jason will realize it in time.”

My stomach twisted.

“You’ve been lying to my daughter! Manipulating her!”

Cheryl just raised an eyebrow.

“Well, aren’t you replaceable?”

Something inside me snapped.

I turned to Alexa.

“You? You left Jason! Why are you back here?”

Alexa looked down, picking at a pillow.
“Cheryl convinced me Beverly should know me,” she said weakly.

“Or maybe you hoped to crawl back to Jason?” I spat.

She didn’t answer.

I turned to Cheryl. My voice went calm, ice-cold.

“You will never see my daughter again.”

She smirked.

“My son will never let that happen.”

I picked Beverly up, who clung to me with confusion, breaking my heart.

“We’ll see,” I told Cheryl firmly.

In the car, holding my daughter, I made a vow.

No one would take her from me.
Not Cheryl. Not Alexa. And if Jason didn’t stand with me, not even him.

At the ice cream shop, I explained gently to Beverly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart,” I assured her. “Grandma lied. And her friend did too. We won’t see them anymore.”

Back home, Cheryl and Alexa were gone, but Jason was waiting.

“Jason,” I said, sending Beverly to play, “we need to talk.