I couldn't make myself look away from the phone.
Lawrence held it between us, his thumb resting against the edge of the case.
Neither of us spoke.
The room on the screen was familiar, but I no longer felt as if I were looking at an ordinary bedroom.
I felt as if we had accidentally opened a door that should never have been closed.
"What did you see?" I whispered.
Lawrence shook his head.
"I don't know what I'm looking at."
His answer frightened me because he wasn't trying to calm me down.
He was genuinely confused.
I moved closer and studied the picture again.
The camera showed Constance's bed, the bedside table, and the blanket covering her body.
The amber bottle was still there.
The light was dim, and the image wasn't clear enough to explain every small detail.
I wanted to blame the poor picture quality.
I wanted to believe that exhaustion had made us imagine something unusual.
But neither of us could forget the sight of Constance that afternoon.
Her abdomen had been swollen before we installed the camera.
Whatever we were seeing now had to be understood in that context.
"Maybe we should go to her room," I said.
Lawrence looked toward the door.
"If we go now, we might interrupt whatever is happening."
"And if she's in pain?"
His face tightened.
"We won't leave her in danger."
He stood, then hesitated.
I could tell he was struggling with the same decision I was.
We had wanted the camera to give us information.
We hadn't expected to feel guilty for watching instead of acting.
"Let's listen for a moment," he said. "Then we'll check on her."
I nodded.
We sat down again.
I kept my eyes on the screen while Lawrence adjusted the sound.
There was no clear explanation waiting for us.
No voice telling us what had happened.
No obvious answer to the question that had haunted us since the afternoon.
Only the room, the bed, and the small bottle beside it.
I felt my stomach twist.
"Lawrence, what if Dad knows something we don't?"
He stared at the image.
"Then he needs to tell us."
"And if he won't?"
Lawrence didn't answer.
We both knew how difficult it was to get a straight answer from Theodore when he didn't want to give one.
He could turn every question into a personal insult.
He could make Lawrence feel like a disobedient child even when he was a grown man asking a reasonable question.
That night, I began to understand how easily a family could become trapped by one person's authority.
We had allowed Theodore to make decisions because we thought he was protecting his wife.
Now we were afraid that his control might be part of the problem.
I looked at the clock.
The hour had grown late.
My eyes burned, and my shoulders ached from sitting rigidly for so long.
Still, I couldn't sleep.
Then I noticed movement on the screen.
I caught Lawrence's arm.
"Look."
He leaned forward.
We watched carefully.
I couldn't tell what the movement meant.
The camera wasn't close enough to show every detail, and the shadows made the image difficult to interpret.
But it was enough to make us both sit upright.
"Is she awake?" I asked.
"Maybe."
"Should we go?"
He looked at me, then back at the screen.
"Yes. Let's check on her."
We rose together.
I opened our bedroom door slowly and listened.
The hallway was quiet.
No footsteps.
No voices.
We walked toward Constance's room without turning on the overhead lights.
The floor creaked beneath Lawrence's feet.
At the door, we stopped.
I could hear faint breathing from inside.
Lawrence placed his hand on the handle.
He looked at me once.
Then he opened the door.
Constance lay where we had left her.
The bedside lamp was still on.
The blanket covered her, and the amber bottle remained on the table.
I went straight to her.
"Constance, it's me."
Her eyes opened a little wider.
I touched her hand.
It was warm, and her fingers moved faintly against mine.
Lawrence stood beside the bed, watching her face.
"Mom, are you hurting?"
She made a small sound.
I couldn't tell whether it was an answer or an involuntary noise.
I adjusted her pillow and looked at her abdomen.
The swelling was still visible.
I had hoped that seeing her in person would settle my fears.
It didn't.
If anything, being beside her made the situation feel more urgent.
I could see how uncomfortable she was.
I could see the strain around her eyes.
And I could see how hard she was trying to communicate something she couldn't put into words.
I bent close.
"Do you want us to call a doctor?"
Her gaze moved toward the doorway.
For a moment, I thought she was looking for Theodore.
Then she looked back at me.
I couldn't tell what she wanted to say.
But I knew I couldn't keep asking her questions she had no reliable way to answer.
"We're going to help you," I said.
Lawrence reached for his phone.
This time, I didn't ask him to wait.
"We need medical help," I told him.
He nodded.
Before he could make the call, we heard a noise from the hallway.
Both of us turned.
Theodore was standing outside the room.
He looked at the phone in Lawrence's hand.
Then he looked at us.
"What are you doing up here?"
Lawrence didn't lower the phone.
"Checking on Mom."
"I can see that."
"She isn't getting better."
Theodore stepped into the room.
"I told you what she needs."
"And we told you we aren't waiting several days."
Theodore's eyes moved toward the bedside table.
I followed his gaze.
For one brief moment, his expression changed.
It was small.
So small that I might have missed it on another day.
He looked at the amber bottle.
Then he looked away.
I felt a chill move through me.
"What's in that bottle?" I asked.
Theodore turned toward me.
"Why?"
"Because you said you've been giving her herbal drinks."
"And?"
"Is that what it contains?"
He stared at me.
"You've become very suspicious lately."
"I have a reason to be."
Lawrence stepped between us.
"Enough. We're getting her examined."
Theodore's mouth tightened.
He didn't move toward the bed.
He didn't offer to help.
Instead, he looked at his son as though Lawrence had betrayed him.
"You think you can walk in here and take control of everything?"
Lawrence's voice was quiet.
"This isn't about control."
"Then stop acting as if I'm doing something wrong."
"We don't know what you're doing," Lawrence replied. "That's the problem."
Theodore went silent.
For several seconds, the three of us stood in the dim room.
Constance watched us from her pillow.
I could hear my own breathing.
I could hear the faint hum of the lamp.
And I could see that the bottle had become the center of an argument no one wanted to explain.
Lawrence finally turned back toward his mother.
"I'm calling for help."
This time, Theodore didn't shout.
He only watched him.
I couldn't decide whether his silence was a good sign or a warning.
But I no longer cared about keeping the peace.
Constance needed more than promises.
She needed someone willing to put her safety before Theodore's pride.
And I was no longer willing to wait for his permission.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: My Father-in-Law Had an Answer for Every Question Except the One We Needed Him to Answer
I Thought My Mother-in-Law Was Simply Getting Worse Until I Saw What Was Happening Beneath Her Blanket
Part 5 of 12
