Not network loss.
Manual.
She checked the living-room camera.
Online.
Kitchen camera.
Online.
Front entrance.
Online.
Only the upstairs hall.
Disconnected manually.
Claire called Nathan.
He answered before the first full ring.
“Claire.”
“Why is the upstairs camera offline?”
Silence.
Her heart sank.
“Nathan.”
“I unplugged it.”
“When?”
“You know when.”
“April seventh.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I hated feeling watched.”
Claire stared at her mother.
“You installed it.”
“I know.”
“You unplugged one camera.”
“It faces the bedrooms.”
“It faces the hall.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
Claire's voice became quieter.
“You unplugged it around the same time you started locking Lily in the linen room.”
Nathan exhaled.
“Claire.”
“Is that coincidence?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“You answered too fast.”
“Because I know what you're implying.”
“What am I implying?”
“That I disabled a camera so I could abuse our child.”
Claire had not used the word.
Now it existed.
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Claire looked toward the guest-room hall.
“Then explain.”
Nathan was quiet.
“I unplugged it after my second interview.”
“What?”
“The Grantwell interview.”
Claire remembered.
April sixth.
Nathan had interviewed for a vice president role with a manufacturing company.
Three rounds.
Then rejection.
He had taken the last call upstairs.
“I got the rejection on video.”
Claire frowned.
“What?”
“I lost it.”
He sounded ashamed.
“I threw a shoe.”
“Kicked the laundry basket.”
“Yelled.”
“I watched it later because the camera notification came up.”
“I looked pathetic.”
“So I unplugged the camera.”
Claire listened.
“That was why.”
“Did Lily see?”
“Yes.”
“Was she scared?”
“Probably.”
“Did you put her in the room that day?”
Silence.
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Nathan.”
“Yes.”
The answer came small.
“Why?”
“She wouldn't stop asking if I was mad.”
Claire stopped breathing.
“What?”
“She kept following me.”
“Asking if I was okay.”