At first, the town felt welcoming—friendly neighbors, slow mornings, and open space. But soon, I realized the real challenge wasn’t adjusting to small-town life. It was Mason’s family.
His mother and sister visited constantly, commenting on everything from the girls’ meals to their bedtimes. They took endless photos and videos—of playtime, of messy hair, even of tantrums. I tried to tell myself it was harmless excitement, but a quiet unease grew each time a phone camera pointed at my children.
Over time, their behavior began to feel less like memory-making and more like surveillance.
A picture here, a video there, always documenting moments I thought were private. When I mentioned my discomfort to Mason, he brushed it off as family enthusiasm. But the feeling in my chest didn’t fade.
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