I trusted my husband to handle two nights alone with our daughter. I figured the worst that could happen was a missed nap or a spilled bottle. But a few hours into my trip, I glanced at the monitor — and what I saw in that nursery made my stomach twist.
I never thought I’d be the type of mom to spy on my own husband. But here I am, sitting in a hotel room two hours away from home, staring at the glowing screen of my baby monitor like it’s a crystal ball. And what I saw on it tonight made my blood run cold.
But before I get ahead of myself, let me back up. I’m 34F, first-time mom to my 7-month-old daughter, Emma. She’s my whole world.
Like most new moms, I’ll admit I’m a little overprotective — okay, maybe more than a little. I’m the one who checks if Emma’s breathing three times a night, who packs extra bottles “just in case,” who makes sure the locks are turned not once but twice. My husband, Mark (36M), is the opposite.
He’s a great dad, don’t get me wrong, but he’s… relaxed. Too relaxed. His motto is, “She’ll be fine, don’t worry so much.” Meanwhile, my brain never stops spiraling about every possible “what if.”
So when my boss told me I’d have to travel overnight for work, my first trip away since Emma was born, I nearly cried.
Two days, just two days, but it felt like I was being asked to cut off an arm. To cope, I did what any anxious mom would do: I prepared. I bought this high-tech video monitor, top of the line, with internet connection, two-way audio, and crystal-clear night vision.
Honestly, it’s like having a portal straight into Emma’s nursery. I tested every angle, every corner. I knew that when I was gone, I could still check in anytime.
This morning, as I rushed around, Mark tried to reassure me. “Relax,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “You’ll be gone for just two nights.
I’ve got this.” I pointed at the small camera glowing in the corner of Emma’s room. “Promise me you’ll keep it on. I’m going to check.
You know I will.”
Mark smirked and gave a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Big Brother Mom is watching.
Now go pack before you drive me crazy.” I laughed, but I wasn’t joking. I needed that camera like a lifeline. It was early afternoon in the city I’d traveled to.
My morning meeting had wrapped up, and I finally had a few hours to myself before the next session. I sat in my hotel room, laptop open, emails piling up. A cup of coffee sat on the desk, stone cold.
But I couldn’t focus. Not really. Every few minutes, my eyes betrayed me, drifting back to the baby monitor app on my phone.
I’d already checked it at least six times since the morning. Each time it gave me a small dose of relief: Emma sleeping peacefully, or Mark making silly faces, or his terrible attempt at peekaboo. Just one more look, I told myself, tapping the app again.
The nursery flickered to life on my screen: pink blanket bunched to one side, stuffed bunny leaning lazily against the crib—everything exactly the way I’d left it. Except…
My heart lurched so hard I thought I might be sick. Emma wasn’t alone.
A woman, someone I had never seen before, was in the nursery, cradling my daughter. She looked to be in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. Silver-streaked hair pinned into a perfect bun, a soft cardigan draped over her shoulders.
She swayed back and forth, humming as if Emma belonged to her. And Emma… oh God, Emma wasn’t crying. She was calm, her tiny hand fisting the woman’s sweater.
She wasn’t my mom. She wasn’t Mark’s mom. Neither lived anywhere near us.
We don’t even have family nearby. So who the hell was she? And how had she gotten into my house?
My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone as I hit Mark’s contact. He answered after two rings, sounding casual, almost cheerful. “Hey, babe.
Everything okay?”
“Mark!” My voice cracked with panic. “Who is in the nursery with Emma?!”
There was a pause, then a laugh, nervous and confused. “What are you talking about?
It’s just me and Emma here.”
“No!” I nearly screamed. “No, Mark, I’m looking at the monitor right now! There’s a woman—an old woman—holding our baby!”
On the other end, I heard the scrape of a chair, heavy footsteps, then the clatter of him yanking off his headphones.
His breathing changed, sharp, uneven. “I’ve been in the office with my headphones on,” he muttered, voice rising. “I didn’t hear—”
And then he stopped dead.
I could hear the tremor in his breath. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “Jeez… who is that?!”
I watched it unfold like a movie I couldn’t pause.
On the monitor, Mark appeared in the doorway, a little out of breath, a bag of formula clutched like a shield. His eyes went wide when he saw the woman holding Emma. He froze.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
