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The Creeping Suspicion
Wednesdays had become our ritual. A breath of fresh air in our busy week. Four-year-old Beverly spent these days with her grandmother while Jason and I worked. It was the perfect arrangement—at least on the surface.
At first, I had hesitated. Cheryl and I had never really found our balance—those loaded silences between us, her remarks that always seemed to border on criticism. But her offer appeared sincere. One day a week away from daycare, precious moments with her grandmother. How could I refuse?
“She’s perfectly happy with us, Martha,” Cheryl had assured me with that smile I could never fully decipher.
The first few weeks went by without incident. Then came the small changes. Subtle at first. The way Beverly suddenly pushed away her plate, declaring: “I only want to eat with Daddy, Grandma, and her friend today.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “What friend, sweetie?”
She smiled, a strange little secret smile. “Grandma’s friend.”
The Weight of Doubt
I began observing Beverly more carefully. Her play became mysterious, punctuated with whispers. Her drawings always showed four figures: herself, her father, her grandmother, and this “friend” with long black hair. I tried to talk to Jason about it, but he smiled indulgently.
“Kids invent imaginary friends. It’s normal at her age.”
Yet something in Beverly’s gaze had changed. She sometimes studied me as if I had become the stranger. One evening, as I tucked her in, she clutched her unicorn plush against her chest and whispered: “Mom, why don’t you like our friend?”
I felt my stomach knot. “Who told you I didn’t like her?”
She bit her lip, then recited, as if repeating memorized words: “Our friend is family, Mom. You just don’t see it yet.”
These weren’t a child’s words. These were words that had been planted, cultivated.
The following nights, I heard her little voice whispering in the dark. I stood motionless outside her door, listening to these conversations with an invisible being that seemed to occupy more and more space in our home, in her life.
I began to doubt everything. Myself. My perceptions.
The Breaking Point
The decision was difficult to make. I felt like I was betraying, crossing a line. But fear was stronger. I found the small camera we had used when Beverly was a baby. I installed it in the living room, hidden among the books. The act made me nauseous, but I needed to know.
That Wednesday, I left the house as usual, leaving prepared snacks, kissing Beverly on the forehead. Cheryl greeted me with her usual distant politeness.
By noon, I couldn’t resist anymore. I opened the app on my phone with trembling hands.
The image was clear. Beverly played quietly with her dolls. Cheryl sipped her tea, checking her watch regularly.
“Beverly, darling, are you ready? Our friend will be here any minute now!”
My heart started pounding violently.
“Yes, Grandma! I love her! Do you think she’ll braid my hair again?”
“If you ask her nicely, I’m sure she will,” replied Cheryl. Then, leaning closer: “You remember what we don’t tell Mom?”
Beverly nodded, serious. “Not a word to Mom.”
My blood ran cold. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Cheryl calmly went to answer it, smoothing her hair.
The woman who crossed the threshold took my breath away.
Alexa. Jason’s ex-wife.
The Truth Revealed
The drive home remains a blur in my memory. I only remember the cold rage that consumed me, the roaring in my ears drowning out any coherent thought.
I pushed open the front door violently. They were there, all three of them, sitting on the couch. Like a perverse family portrait.
Alexa looked up, surprised but not panicked. “Oh. Hello, Martha,” she said softly, as if I were the intruder.
“What is she doing here?” I asked, my voice shaking.
Beverly raised her innocent eyes to me. “Mom, why are you ruining the union?”
The union?
Cheryl sighed as if I were particularly dense.
“You really are slow sometimes, Martha,” she said coldly.
“What union?” I spat.
Alexa looked embarrassed. “I… Cheryl thought I should see Beverly,” she began.
Cheryl interrupted her. “Martha, face the facts. You were never meant to be here. Alexa was supposed to be with Jason. You’re a mistake. Beverly deserves a real family, and Alexa is ready to stay home with her. Jason will realize it in time.”
My stomach twisted. “You’ve been lying to my daughter! You’ve been manipulating her!”
Cheryl simply raised an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you replaceable?”
Fragile Comfort
In the car, at the ice cream parlor, I held Beverly close, her confused little body against mine. She didn’t understand why we had left so abruptly, why tears silently rolled down my cheeks.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, sweetheart,” I gently assured her. “Grandma lied. And so did her friend. We won’t be seeing them for a while.”
Her big eyes studied me, searching for an explanation I didn’t know how to formulate. How do you explain betrayal to a four-year-old? How do you tell her that her grandmother had tried to replace me in our family?
Back home, Cheryl and Alexa were gone, but Jason was waiting for us. His face betrayed his concern.
“Jason,” I said, sending Beverly to play in her room, “we need to talk.”
I showed him everything. The recordings. The conversations. His face paled with each passing second.
“She will never see Beverly again,” he said fiercely, with an anger I had never seen before blazing in his eyes.
He took my hand, squeezed it tightly. No words. Just that contact, that warmth, that silent promise.
Cheryl tried to call, but I blocked her number. Jason did the same.