Chapter 2: The Camera Above the Tree
I didn't move.
Neither did Lauren.
For three long seconds, we simply stared at each other across the Christmas table while the message burned on my phone screen.
*CHECK THE CAMERA ABOVE THE CHRISTMAS TREE BEFORE LAUREN DELETES IT.*
My thumb hovered over the screen.
"Claire?"" my mother said.
I didn't answer.
Lauren slowly set her phone down.
"What is it?"" she asked.
Her voice was almost casual.
Almost.
I stood.
"Where is Dad's security system?""
My father's expression changed.
"What?""
"The cameras.""
He frowned.
"What about them?""
"I want to see the footage from the dining room.""
The room tightened around us.
Lauren laughed once.
"Seriously?""
I looked at her.
"Yes.""
"Why?""
"Because somebody sent me a message telling me to check the camera above the Christmas tree.""
The color drained from her face.
Only a little.
But enough.
My father noticed.
"Lauren?""
She looked at him.
"I didn't do anything.""
I hadn't accused her.
Not yet.
My pulse hammered in my ears.
"Then it shouldn't matter, right?""
She crossed her arms.
"Go ahead.""
Uncle Frank slowly leaned back in his chair.
"I think we should see the footage.""
My mother shot him a warning look.
"Frank.""
He shrugged.
"If there's nothing there, this whole thing ends.""
I looked at my father.
"Can you pull it up?""
Robert hesitated.
Then he pushed his chair back.
"Come with me.""
I followed him toward the small office at the end of the hallway.
The door shut behind us.
He switched on the monitor sitting beside his desk.
"These cameras are mostly for the exterior," he said.
"The indoor ones are motion-activated.""
"There's one above the Christmas tree?""
"Yes.""
"Can you access it?""
He sat down.
His fingers moved across the keyboard.
"Probably.""
"Probably?""
He looked at me.
"I haven't checked the indoor feeds in months.""
My stomach tightened.
"Just find it.""
The monitor flickered.
A grid of camera views appeared.
Front porch.
Driveway.
Backyard.
Kitchen.
Hallway.
Then the dining room.
The Christmas tree filled one corner of the frame, glowing with white lights and gold ornaments.
The timestamp showed 8:14 p.m.
I remembered that time.
I had been in the kitchen helping Mom bring out dessert.
"Go back," I whispered.
Dad dragged the timeline backward.
8:13.
8:12.
8:11.
Then I saw myself entering the kitchen.
Emma was in a portable baby seat beside the Christmas tree.
Lauren was standing nearby.
My breathing stopped.
"Right there.""
Dad froze the screen.
Lauren was holding a phone in one hand.
Her other hand was resting on the edge of Emma's seat.
"What was she doing?""
"I don't know.""
"Play it.""
The footage moved.
There was no sound.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The video showed Lauren looking around the room.
She glanced toward the kitchen.
Then toward the hallway.
Then down at Emma.
She leaned closer.
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
Emma's legs kicked beneath the blanket.
Lauren picked up something from the table.
A small object.
I couldn't see what it was.
She bent toward the baby.
Then Emma's whole body jerked.
I flinched.
The footage continued.
Lauren looked toward the kitchen again.
Then she did something that made my blood turn cold.
She reached down and pressed the object against Emma's neck.
I grabbed the edge of the desk.
"What the hell?""
Dad stared at the screen.
"Claire...""
"Stop.""
His hand moved toward the mouse.
"Wait.""
On-screen, Emma began crying.
Lauren didn't pull away.
She held the object there for several seconds.
Emma's crying became louder.
Lauren finally removed it.
Then she picked up her phone.
She took a picture.
I stared at the screen in disbelief.
"She took a photo of my daughter.""
Dad looked sick.
"I'll call the police.""
"Not yet.""
He turned.
"What?""
"Don't touch anything.""
I stood very still.
My mind was racing.
"What was that object?""
"I don't know.""
"Can you zoom in?""
Dad enlarged the image.
Pixelated shapes sharpened slightly.
A small silver object was visible between Lauren's fingers.
It looked like some kind of pendant.
A metal charm.
Then Lauren moved it.
The sharp edge caught the light.
My stomach dropped.
I knew that pendant.
I'd seen it before.
"That's Mom's.""
Dad looked at me.
"What?""
"The silver angel.""
He stared at the screen.
"Are you sure?""
"Yes.""
My mother wore it every Christmas.
She'd had it since I was a child.
I remembered helping her untangle the chain that morning.
But if that was Mom's necklace...
Why was Lauren holding it?
And why had she pressed it against Emma's neck?
I looked at Dad.
"Go get Mom.""
He didn't move.
"Claire, maybe there's an explanation.""
"Then she can explain it.""
He nodded slowly.
We left the office.
The dining room had gone completely silent.
Mom stood near the table.
Lauren was no longer sitting.
She was by the tree.
Too close to it.
I saw her hand disappear behind one of the branches.
My heart kicked.
"Lauren.""
She turned.
"What?""
"Step away from the tree.""
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why?""
"Because I asked you to.""
She glanced at Dad.
Then Mom.
Then back at me.
"You've lost your mind.""
I pulled out my phone.
"I saw the footage.""
Her face emptied.
No anger.
No sarcasm.
Nothing.
Then she whispered, "You saw it?""
The words hung in the room.
Dad closed his eyes.
Mom's hand went to her mouth.
I stepped closer.
"What did you do to my daughter?""
Lauren looked at Emma.
For the first time all night, there was no irritation in her expression.
There was something else.
Something harder to name.
"I didn't hurt her.""
"You put something against her neck.""
"It wasn't meant to hurt her.""
Emma stirred against my chest.
I held her tighter.
"Then what was it meant to do?""
Lauren said nothing.
"Answer me.""
She looked toward Mom.
"Tell her.""
Mom went pale.
"Tell me what?""
Lauren's jaw tightened.
"You know.""
"No, I don't.""
"Mom.""
"What are you talking about?""
I looked between them.
"What does she know?""
Neither answered.
I took one step toward Lauren.
"What was that pendant?""
Mom's eyes immediately filled with tears.
I had never seen her look so frightened.
"It's mine," she whispered.
"I know.""
"Then you know where it came from.""
I stared at her.
"No.""
Mom swallowed.
"I found it years ago.""
"Found it where?""
She looked at Dad.
Robert shook his head.
"Margaret.""
She ignored him.
"At the hospital.""
The room seemed to shrink.
"What hospital?""
Mom's lips trembled.
"The night you were born.""
I couldn't breathe.
"What?""
Dad stood abruptly.
"That's enough.""
I turned on him.
"Why are you telling me this now?""
"Because you're upset.""
"That's not an answer.""
My voice cracked.
Mom started crying.
Lauren looked away.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
There had always been one photograph I wasn't allowed to see.
One box my mother kept locked in the top drawer of her bedroom.
One subject that ended every conversation when I asked about the night I was born.
My birth certificate said I had been born at St. Mary's Hospital at 2:07 a.m.
Healthy.
Eight pounds, one ounce.
Mother and father listed.
Everything normal.
At least that was what I'd been told.
I looked at Mom.
"What happened that night?""
She shook her head.
"Not here.""
"Why not here?""
"Because Emma is here.""
I looked down at my daughter.
Her eyes were half closed now.
She had finally stopped crying.
But I couldn't stop.
"What happened to me?""
Mom took a breath.
"Claire, please.""
"No.""
I looked around the table.
"No more please.""
I set Emma carefully into the portable bassinet beside the sofa.
Then I turned back to my mother.
"You said Lauren was watching my daughter.""
Mom closed her eyes.
"I didn't know what she was doing.""
"Did you know she had your necklace?""
"I thought it was missing.""
I looked at Lauren.
She was staring at the floor.
"Why would you put it against Emma's neck?""
She finally looked up.
"Because I needed to know.""
"Know what?""
Her eyes filled with tears.
But she didn't look sorry.
She looked terrified.
"I needed to know whether she was really yours.""
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?""
Lauren shook her head.
"I shouldn't have done it.""
"What does that mean?""
"I was trying to prove something.""
"Prove what?""
She looked at Mom.
Mom whispered, "Lauren, stop.""
But Lauren's eyes stayed on me.
"I've been looking for the truth for six months.""
My skin prickled.
"What truth?""
She reached into her pocket.
Pulled out her phone.
Opened a photo.
Then held it toward me.
It was an old hospital bracelet.
The name printed across it wasn't mine.
It belonged to a baby girl born on Christmas Eve.
And beneath the name was a sentence written in black ink:
*BABY TRANSFERRED TO MATERNITY—PARENTS NOTIFIED.*
My hands went cold.
"Where did you get that?""
Lauren's lips parted.
"I found it in Dad's locked filing cabinet.""
I looked at my father.
He didn't deny it.
And then my phone buzzed again.
A second message from the same unknown number appeared.
*THE BABY IN YOUR ARMS WASN'T THE ONLY CHILD SWITCHED THAT NIGHT.*
I looked down at Emma.
Then slowly back at my family.
May you like
Someone at that table had known the truth for thirty-two years.
And suddenly, I wasn't sure which child they had actually brought home from the hospital.
