AnnaMaria
At first, I didn’t pay any attention. My daughter, Emma, was seven, and she’d always had trouble sleeping—nightmares, night terrors, sometimes even sleepwalking. I assumed that love and stability would fix everything.
I’ve always considered myself a protective mother. After my first divorce, I swore I would never allow anyone to hurt my daughter again. My life revolved around her, and I controlled everything I could, from her meals to her bedtime routine.
Three years ago, Max entered our lives. Calm, caring, fifteen years older than me, he treated Emma as if she were his own. For the first time in a long time, I thought maybe this was what a real home—safe and peaceful—looked like.
But then I began noticing something strange. Almost every night, around midnight, Max would leave our bed. He’d whisper about his back hurting, about preferring the couch. I believed him… until one night, I woke up and couldn’t find him anywhere.
The house was eerily quiet. The couch was empty. The kitchen was dark. Then I noticed a sliver of light under Emma’s door.
Peering inside, I froze. Max was lying beside her, his arm around her shoulders, as if he had been there all along.
“Max?” I whispered.
He opened his eyes and said calmly, “She had another nightmare. I just wanted to be with her.”
On the surface, it sounded comforting. Like a good parent. But deep down, my stomach twisted. Something about it felt… wrong.
The next day, I bought a small hidden camera and installed it in Emma’s room—high, unobtrusive, where no one would look.
When I reviewed the footage, I nearly passed out.
Emma suddenly sat up in bed, her eyes wide but vacant, staring not at her walls but through them. She whispered something into the darkness. Max leaned close, responding quietly, barely moving his lips. From the outside, it seemed like they were talking to a third, invisible presence.
I felt a chill creep through me. I replayed the video all night, heart pounding, stomach in knots.
The next morning, I confronted Max.
He explained the truth. Emma had been waking up repeatedly from severe nightmares, crying, terrified, unable to fall back asleep. Max was simply keeping her company so she wouldn’t feel alone.
It made sense—but it didn’t make me feel any better. Even with good intentions, this was not right. Emma needed professional help.
The very next day, I booked an appointment with a child psychologist. I was determined to understand what was haunting my daughter’s nights—and to ensure she could sleep safely, without fear or confusion.
