The bathroom. Under the crib.
I told myself I was overtired, kissed his forehead, and went back to the couch.
The next night, same thing.
Rustle over the monitor. Soft baby giggle.
A tiny thud.
This time, I stood outside his door, listening.
I swear I felt the floor vibrating with my heartbeat.
I opened the door slowly.
Again, nothing.
Just my son, blinking at me in the dim light.
By the third night, I was so wired I jumped at the fridge humming.
That’s when I bought the Wi-Fi camera.
I’d avoided it before because they sort of creep me out, but at that point, I needed to see what was happening.
I mounted it in the corner of his room, angled at his crib. Checked the app from the kitchen. Clear picture.
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