Chapter 8 - THE THING I DID WITH SURVEILLANCE
I removed the home cameras.
Not all.
Exterior doors stayed.
Driveway.
Garage entrance.
Normal security.
The interior ones went.
Why were they there?
After Emily died, Nora wandered at night.
Twice I woke and found her downstairs standing in the dark living room.
Once the front alarm chimed because she opened the door looking for Mom.
She was five.
I installed two interior cameras.
Hallway.
Living room.
Safety.
Then never removed them.
By eight, Nora knew they were there.
Claire could access the hallway feed through the household tablet during care hours.
No bedroom camera.
No bathroom.
Still.
A house where adults kept asking for objective evidence.
I had turned grief into observability.
My therapist, Dr. Jonah Wells, asked:
“What did the cameras give you?”
“Safety.”
“Specifically?”
“If she wandered.”
“She still wandering?”
“No.”
“Then?”
I stared.
“Information.”
“For what?”
There.
Again.
No answer.
I liked being able to check whether she arrived home.
Whether Claire was there.
Whether Nora ate snack at the table.
I rarely watched live.
The possibility comforted me.
After the clinic, I nearly watched archived footage looking for earlier Claire incidents.
Lisa stopped me again.
“Do you have reason to believe something specific occurred in camera areas?”
“No.”
“Then let investigators handle preservation.”
I became angry.
“It’s my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“My house.”
“Yes.”
“I have the right.”
“Maybe legally.”
Then:
“Is the right the same as the need?”
There.
No.
We preserved relevant footage under counsel.
I did not binge-watch Nora’s childhood.
Then I took the interior cameras down.
Nora watched me unscrew the hallway one.
“Why?”
“You don’t need it.”
“Are you scared of cameras now?”
Good question.
“No.”
“Then?”
I thought.
“They were for when you used to walk around at night.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t anymore.”
She smiled.
“I can start.”
“Please don’t.”
She laughed.
The empty camera mount left two holes in the wall.
I almost patched them immediately.
Then didn’t.
For weeks, two small holes.
A reminder?
Maybe.
Mostly procrastination.
Eventually I patched.
Wall became wall.
Good.
The agency tablet never returned to our house.
A new caregiver came six months later.
Not immediately.
I tried to do everything myself first.
Bad idea.
I cut work.
Missed deadlines.
Became resentful.
Then felt guilty for resentment.
Margaret said:
“You don’t have to prove nobody else can care for her.”
There.
True.
The lesson from Claire was not:
Never trust another caregiver.
That would let Claire define our future too.
We hired Jamila Brooks.
Forty-one.
No clinical uniform.
No tablet unless needed for schedule.
Nora interviewed her with me.
Not sole decision.
Voice.
Nora asked:
“What if I don’t like you?”
Jamila laughed.
“Then your dad and I should probably know.”
There.
Perfect.
“Would you get fired?”
“Maybe.”
Nora looked horrified.
Jamila continued.
“Or maybe we fix something. Or maybe we’re not a good fit. Adults survive job changes.”
There.
No child responsible for a caregiver’s livelihood.
Nora chose her.
More accurately:
Nora said:
“I want to try.”
Three-month trial.
Clear.
Jamila’s first conflict with Nora came over homework.
Nora shouted:
“I want you to leave.”
I was home.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Old incident.
Jamila said:
“Do you mean leave the room or stop working here?”
Nora froze.
Nobody had asked that distinction before.
“The room.”
“Done.”
Jamila went to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later Nora came out.
“Can you help with fractions?”
Jamila did.
No incident report.
No video.
No lesson about manipulation.
A child wanted space.
Got space.
Then returned.
Not every no is permanent.
A no becomes safer when adults do not punish the person for saying it.
Jamila stayed three years.
Then moved to Colorado when her wife got a job.
Nora cried.
So did Jamila.
Nobody called departure abandonment.
May you like
Sometimes people leave because lives change.
That mattered too.
