Then, I stopped. I forced myself to think like Lily. I looked at the antique nightstand I had refinished for her, remembering the “secret” compartment beneath the bottom drawer where she used to hide her Halloween candy. Kneeling, I pulled the drawer out and reached into the dark cavity.
My fingers brushed cold plastic. I pulled out a tiny, black motion-activated camera—one I had bought years ago to watch our dog. Lily had repurposed it.
I ran to my office, hands shaking so badly I could barely plug the USB cable into my laptop. When the folder opened, I saw dozens of clips. But the last one was timestamped at 3:45 PM—exactly twenty minutes before the 911 call.
I clicked play.
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