Chapter 11
The kitchen felt different at night. The recessed lights over the island hummed the same as they had that afternoon, but the house was quiet. Leo was asleep down the hall. I could hear the soft tick of the heat coming on.
Connor stood on the other side of the marble island. My black smartphone was in the middle, screen dark. His bomber jacket was draped over the back of a stool. He hadn't put it back on since he'd come home.
I picked up the phone. My cheek still ached when I moved my jaw, a dull throb I was getting used to.
"I didn't want to keep this only on here," I said.
He nodded. He was breathing slow, hands flat on the counter. He was trying not to rush me.
I unlocked the phone and opened the camera app. The white dome camera in the corner made a small red blink. I tapped through to the storage.
"I set it to back up automatically," I said. "After Leo was born. I didn't think much about it at the time."
I turned the phone so he could see. On the screen was the cloud folder. Date-stamped files, one for each day. I scrolled back to ours. The thumbnail showed the kitchen from above, timecode in the corner.
Connor leaned in. I pressed play with my thumb.
We watched it again, silent this time. No screaming. Just the top-down view. Martha holding Leo against her, her navy coat bright under the lights. Me reaching for him, hands open. Her grip on my arms. Connor bursting through the glass-pane door.
He didn't look away.
"And this copy," I said, swiping out of the app, "isn't just on my phone."
I opened my laptop that was sitting closed on the island. I lifted the lid. The screen woke to a folder I'd already pulled up. Same files, same dates.
"It's in two places," I said. "On the camera's account and on the hard drive I keep in the bedroom closet. Both have the dates locked. I can't edit them even if I wanted to."
Connor stared at the row of files. "You did that tonight?"
"Last week, actually," I said. "I set it up then. I just checked tonight that today saved right. It did."
He exhaled. I could see his shoulders drop a little.
"Okay," he said. "Good. That's good you did that."
I closed the laptop halfway. I didn't want this to feel like I was building a case against him. It wasn't.
"I don't want to use this like a weapon," I said. "I don't want to send it to people or threaten anyone with it. I just need it to be true. So we both know what happened, and we don't have to argue about memory later."
He nodded again. His eyes were on the phone, not on me.
"I know," he said. "I get that."
We stood there a second. The fridge hummed.
"I want to talk about Leo," I said.
His head came up.
"I heard what you said to him earlier," I said. "When you told him thank you for telling. You meant well."
Connor rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't know what else to say to him."
"I know," I said. "But we can't put him in the middle. We can't have him carry messages or tell us what happened so we don't have to. He's three."
I said it as gently as I could. I kept my voice low so it wouldn't travel down the hall.
"He kept saying it, though," Connor said. "Don't hit mom."
"I know," I said. "And that's why we have the video. So he doesn't have to be the proof. He doesn't have to repeat it for us to believe it. He just gets to be our kid."
Connor swallowed. He looked toward the hallway where Leo slept.
"You're right," he said after a pause. "I shouldn't have asked him to say it again. I won't do that."
I reached across the island. I didn't touch his hand, just rested mine near his.
"So future visits," I said. "If your mom comes over again. It can't be like before."
He looked back at me. He waited.
"The camera stays on," I said. "No one unplugs it, no one covers it. We both know it's recording. And if she wants to see Leo, it's here, in the kitchen or the living room, with both of us here. Not one of us and her alone. And not for long at first."
I watched his face. I was waiting for the flinch, the defense I'd seen every other time I'd tried to set a line about Martha.
It didn't come.
"And if she can't do that, she doesn't come," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I said.
He pressed his palms together. "Camera on. Both of us here. Time limit. In writing so it's clear."
"In writing," I said. "Just for us. So we don't rewrite it later when it gets uncomfortable."
He gave a short, tired breath that was almost a laugh. "House rule, not a secret file."
"House rule," I said.
He picked up my phone, careful, and locked it. He slid it back to my side of the island. "Leave it backed up. Leave it where it is. I don't want you to delete anything."
I nodded. The ache in my cheek pulsed once.
"We'll keep it as the record," I said. "Not as leverage. As the rule we both live by."
He came around the island. He didn't crowd me. He stood beside me, looking at the same dark hallway, listening for Leo the way I was.
May you like
"Okay," he said.
And for the first time since the afternoon, the kitchen felt like ours again.
