That’s when it stopped feeling like coincidence.
When the third nanny left—again, right after meeting my husband—I knew something was wrong.
That night, my daughter said something I couldn’t ignore.
“Daddy told her you’re too tired,” Annabel said softly as I tucked her in. “He said you don’t understand your job.”
I froze.
My five-year-old didn’t make things like that up.
The next morning, I sat in the kitchen, staring at nothing, asking myself one question:
What is happening in my house when I’m not here?
So I did something I never thought I would do.
I installed cameras.
Living room. Kitchen. Hallway.
Not to spy.
To understand.
The fourth nanny arrived two days later.
