I found a thirty-nine dollar camera hidden inside a functioning smoke detector. It had next-day delivery. I paid extra for it, my fingers trembling on the glass.

It arrived on Tuesday afternoon while Greg was at work. I stood on a kitchen chair in our hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs, and installed it right outside the bathroom door. It blended in perfectly with the white ceiling.

Wednesday morning came. It was a cold, gray Ohio day, the kind where the rain just hangs in the air. Arthur drove his old blue Buick up our driveway at exactly noon, just like he always did.

He was wearing his usual beige cardigan, his pockets bulging with those gold-wrapped hard candies. He smiled his warm, grandpa smile and hugged Lily.

“You look tired, Claire,” Arthur said, his voice gentle and gravelly. “Make sure you get a nice lunch today.”

I nodded, my throat so tight I could barely swallow. “Thanks, Arthur,” I whispered.

I drove to work, but I didn’t do any work. I sat at my desk at the clinic, staring at my phone. The little app for the smoke detector camera was open. The battery indicator was green.

At exactly 2:14 PM, my phone buzzed with a motion alert.

I clicked the notification. The live feed loaded slowly, the little circle spinning. My breath hitched.

The camera showed the hallway. Arthur was walking toward the bathroom, holding Lily’s hand. He was carrying a pink towel over his shoulder.

He led her inside. Then, he did something he had never done when I was home.

He pulled the bathroom door shut. And then, I heard the sharp, distinct click of the brass lock turning from the inside.

Twelve minutes.

I sat at my desk, staring at that closed white door on my screen. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. My hands were shaking so badly the phone slipped against the laminate counter.

The silence in the dental office lobby was deafening, but in my head, it was like a siren was going off. I kept waiting for the door to open. I kept counting the seconds, my eyes burning.

Why would he lock the door? Why would a seventy-one-year-old man lock himself in a bathroom with a five-year-old girl?

At 2:26 PM, the brass lock clicked again.

The door swung open. Lily walked out first, her cheeks flushed from the warm bath. In her little hand, she was holding a shiny, gold-foil wrapped Werther’s Original. She had already unwrapped one, her mouth moving as she sucked on it.

Then, she stopped in the middle of the hallway. She looked straight up at the ceiling.

“Grandpa, why is the smoke detector blinking?” Lily asked, pointing her small finger upward.

Arthur stepped out behind her, a dry towel in his hands. He stopped. He followed her gaze, his eyes locking directly onto the tiny, hidden lens of the thirty-nine dollar camera.