Natalie lifted the toy above her head.
Then the audio kicked in.
“You can have him when you stop talking about your mother.”
I stopped breathing.
Sophie began crying.
Natalie crouched in front of her.
“You have a mother now.”
“You’re not Mommy.”
Natalie’s face hardened.
“Exactly. Because your mother is gone.”
I felt sick.
Sophie reached for Felix again.
Natalie took her wrist.
Not violently.
Not enough to leave an obvious bruise.
But hard enough that Sophie whimpered.
Then Natalie walked her downstairs.
Twenty-seven minutes passed before Sophie returned.
She was alone.
She sat at the bottom of the stairs and cried.
Natalie appeared a few minutes later and dropped Felix beside her.
“Maybe tomorrow you’ll remember how to behave.”
I paused the video.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the tablet.
Behind me, Natalie spoke.
“You don’t understand.”
I turned.
She was standing at the edge of the living room.
I barely recognized her.
“What exactly am I misunderstanding?”
“She needs structure.”
“You locked my daughter in a windowless room.”
“She was never in danger.”
“She thought she was.”
“Children think lots of things.”
I walked toward her.
“Pack a bag.”
Her expression changed.
“Ethan.”
“Leave.”
“This is my house too.”
“Not tonight.”
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then a strange calm settled over her.
“You’re going to regret making decisions while you’re emotional.”
“My daughter has been afraid to speak inside her own home.”
“She is manipulating you.”
“She is four.”
Natalie’s jaw tightened.
Before either of us said anything else, Sophie appeared at the top of the stairs.
She had awakened.
She looked down at us.
Then she pointed toward her bedroom.
“Daddy?”
I ran upstairs.
“What is it?”
Sophie looked toward her bookshelf.
“Mommy’s little eye.”
I frowned.
“What?”
She walked to the bookshelf and pulled several picture books away.