Now I had to consider that what I saw might not have been an isolated decision made that afternoon.
I looked at the thumbnail again.
The cage was unmistakable.
“What is that?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
The responder enlarged the image without starting the recording.
It was dark inside the cage, but the shape on the floor was clear enough to make me stop breathing for a second.
It looked like a small animal.
Not a snake.
Something with fur.
I looked at my daughter.
She was staring down at her blanket.
“How many videos?” I asked.
“We’re still going through them.”
I felt my hands begin to shake.
I had spent years believing I knew the woman I married. I knew her habits, her routines, the way she organized the kitchen, the way she planned birthdays, the way she talked about parenting. She had always been the one telling me that children needed structure.
