I set up twenty-six hidden cameras around my house to catch my nanny cutting corners. My heart had turned cold—tempered by a billion-dollar empire and shattered by the sudden, devastating loss of my wife. I believed I was guarding my children from an outsider. I never imagined I was witnessing an angel quietly battling my own family.
“She’s lazy,” Beatrice murmured one evening over dinner. “I saw her sitting in the dark for hours doing nothing. And who knows—maybe she’s stealing Seraphina’s jewelry while you’re gone. You should keep an eye on her.”
Fueled by grief and suspicion, I spent $100,000 installing top-of-the-line infrared surveillance cameras throughout the house. I didn’t tell Elena. I wanted proof.
I expected to see her asleep.
I expected to catch her rummaging through my belongings.
Instead, the night-vision footage showed Elena sitting on the floor between the two cribs. She wasn’t resting. She was holding Leo—the fragile twin—pressed against her bare chest, skin to skin, the way Seraphina had once explained helped regulate a baby’s breathing.
But that… wasn’t the shock.
The camera captured a subtle, steady motion. Elena was rocking gently as she hummed a tune—the exact lullaby Seraphina had written for the twins before her death. It had never been published. No one else on earth should have known it.
Then the nursery door slowly opened. Continue reading…
