Lawrence spent the next part of the evening thinking through how to place the camera without attracting attention.
He didn't discuss it loudly.
He didn't want his father to hear us through the hallway.
I sat on the bed and watched him move around our room.
He opened a drawer, closed it, and checked his phone.
Then he stood still for several seconds.
"You know this feels wrong," he said.
"I know."
"Putting a camera in Mom's room."
I understood his hesitation.
Constance had lost so much control over her own life already.
We didn't want to take away another piece of her dignity.
But there was something else we couldn't ignore.
She might have been unable to explain what was happening to her, but that didn't mean we should accept her suffering without investigating it.
"We aren't doing this for ourselves," I said.
He nodded.
"I know."
We kept our voices low.
Our conversation was interrupted by footsteps outside.
Both of us fell silent.
The footsteps continued past our door and descended the stairs.
We waited until the house became quiet again.
Then Lawrence picked up his phone.
He arranged the camera so that it could record the room without drawing attention to itself.
I didn't watch every detail of what he did.
I was too busy listening for Theodore.
The house had always made noises at night.
The pipes clicked.
The wooden floor creaked.
The refrigerator hummed downstairs.
But that evening, every small sound made me tense.
When Lawrence finally finished, he checked the view on his phone.
The image showed Constance's bed and the nearby furniture.
The bedside table was visible.
So was the heavy blanket.
I stared at the screen.
It felt strange to see her room reduced to a small rectangle.
"Does it work?" I whispered.
He nodded.
"We can watch from here."
I looked at him.
"Are you sure?"
He hesitated.
"No."
That honesty frightened me more than a confident answer would have.
We returned to our bedroom and closed the door.
Neither of us wanted to sleep.
Lawrence sat with his back against the headboard, holding his phone.
I sat beside him, my hands clasped tightly together.
The live feed remained open.
At first, nothing happened.
Constance lay still beneath her blanket.
The lamp cast the same pale light across the room.
The bottle remained beside the bed.
I watched the screen until my eyes began to ache.
"Maybe we'll see nothing," I said.
Lawrence didn't answer.
I wasn't sure whether I was trying to comfort him or myself.
A few minutes passed.
Then a few more.
The silence became almost unbearable.
I thought about all the nights Constance had spent alone in that room.
I thought about the years when we had assumed Theodore was handling everything.
Had there been signs we ignored?
Had she tried to warn us before?
I couldn't remember anything that gave me a clear answer.
That was part of what frightened me.
If something terrible had been happening, it might have been hidden inside the ordinary routines we had accepted without question.
Lawrence shifted beside me.
"Look at her hand."
I leaned closer to the screen.
Constance's fingers had moved slightly against the blanket.
It was a small movement.
She sometimes moved her hands like that, especially when she was uncomfortable.
I waited for her to move again.
She didn't.
"Could she be awake?" I asked.
"I think so."
We continued watching.
I had never realized how difficult it was to sit still when you were afraid for someone.
I wanted to go upstairs.
I wanted to check her breathing and ask whether she needed anything.
But I also knew that the purpose of the camera was to let us see what happened when we weren't in the room.
Every time I considered leaving, I remembered Theodore's expression that afternoon.
I remembered his refusal to let Lawrence call for help.
I remained beside my husband.
At some point, the rain began to ease.
The steady tapping against the windows became an occasional drip from the roof.
The house seemed quieter than it had all day.
Lawrence turned the phone slightly toward me.
"Tell me if you notice anything."
I nodded.
My eyes stayed on the screen.
The bedside lamp made the amber bottle look almost black.
I couldn't stop looking at it.
It seemed ridiculous that such a small object could hold so much of our attention.
Yet neither of us could forget the white residue along its rim.
Neither of us could forget Theodore saying he had been giving Constance herbal drinks.
And neither of us could forget how quickly he had tried to end the conversation.
I wondered whether he would enter her room that night.
I wondered what he would do if he found her awake.
Most of all, I wondered whether Constance knew we were watching.
The thought made me feel guilty.
She had no way to give permission or explain what she wanted.
All we could do was hope that our decision would help us protect her.
Lawrence lowered the phone briefly.
"If this shows us nothing, we'll still have to get her examined."
"Yes."
"We can't wait days."
"No."
He raised the phone again.
The image remained unchanged.
Minutes passed.
Then something in the room shifted.
I sat straighter.
At first, I couldn't identify what had caught my attention.
The camera view was still.
The bed looked the same.
The lamp was still burning.
Then I noticed the blanket.
I stared at the area covering Constance's abdomen.
I couldn't tell whether it had moved or whether my tired eyes were playing tricks on me.
"Lawrence."
He leaned closer.
"What?"
"Look at her stomach."
He examined the screen.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I felt my pulse in my throat.
The shape beneath the blanket looked different from before.
Not dramatically different.
Just enough to make me wonder whether the swelling had changed.
Lawrence adjusted the phone.
"Maybe it's the angle."
"Maybe."
Neither of us believed that explanation completely.
We continued watching.
The camera had been placed to capture the room, not to answer every question about Constance's condition.
The picture was limited.
The light wasn't perfect.
There were shadows across the bed.
I knew those things.
Still, I couldn't look away.
I had spent years seeing Constance in that same bed.
I knew the ordinary rise and fall of her blanket.
I knew how she looked when she was resting.
Whatever I was seeing now didn't feel ordinary.
Lawrence swallowed.
"Should we go upstairs?"
I looked toward the door.
For a moment, I wanted to say yes.
Then I remembered why we had set up the camera.
"We should keep watching for a little longer."
He nodded reluctantly.
We sat in silence again.
The longer we watched, the more conscious I became of every detail.
The pillow near her head.
The fold in the blanket.
The small table beside the bed.
The dark bottle that shouldn't have been there without an explanation.
It was strange how familiar objects could begin to look threatening once you questioned what they meant.
I had seen that bottle only a few hours earlier.
Before then, I hadn't even known it existed.
Now I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Lawrence placed his free hand over mine.
His fingers were cold.
"Whatever happens," he whispered, "we can't ignore this anymore."
I squeezed his hand.
"I won't."
We kept watching.
Neither of us knew what the recording would eventually show.
We only knew that something was wrong, and that Constance might not be able to tell us herself.
For the first time in four years, we were no longer relying entirely on Theodore's version of events.
We were waiting to see what the room would reveal.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: The Night We Watched the Live Feed, Every Familiar Detail Became a Reason to Fear What We Had Missed
I Thought My Mother-in-Law Was Simply Getting Worse Until I Saw What Was Happening Beneath Her Blanket
Part 3 of 12
