Chapter 3: What Was Hidden Under My Bed
The bedroom door opened.
Melissa stood in the doorway holding my father's phone.
Daniel was behind her.
His expression was different now.
He wasn't shouting.
He wasn't angry.
He looked confused.
"Jaylen," he said, "I need you to answer a question honestly.""
I swallowed.
"Okay.""
"Have you ever put a recording device under my bed?""
I stared at him.
"What?""
"A small black device. Similar to the one we found downstairs.""
"No.""
Melissa crossed her arms.
"Daniel, I told you.""
He glanced at her.
"Let me handle this.""
She stepped aside, but I noticed her eyes moving around my bedroom.
My desk.
My closet.
My bed.
She seemed to be checking something.
"Where is it?"" I asked.
Daniel pointed toward the floor.
"Under your bed.""
I looked down.
A small black object sat beside one of my sneakers.
I had never seen it before.
"What is that?""
"That's what we're trying to figure out," my father replied.
I crouched and examined it without touching it.
It looked almost identical to the device from the living room footage.
Melissa gave a small sigh.
"Jaylen, you need to stop pretending.""
I stood up.
"I've never seen that thing.""
"Then how did it get under your bed?""
"I don't know!""
She turned toward Daniel.
"See? This is what I mean. He always has an explanation.""
My father picked up the device using a tissue.
"Enough. I'm taking this downstairs.""
Melissa nodded.
"Good. We should call the police.""
I looked at her.
"Why would you want to call the police?""
"Because someone in this house is recording people without permission.""
She paused.
Then added, "And I don't feel safe.""
I stared at her.
She was suggesting that I had planted the device.
My own bedroom.
My own bed.
My own privacy.
And she wanted my father to believe I was spying on them.
"Dad, please. Check the footage from the hallway.""
He frowned.
"We already checked the footage.""
"Not from today. From before today. If you watch the recording, you'll see I never put anything there.""
Melissa immediately interrupted.
"Those cameras don't cover the bedrooms.""
"Exactly," I replied.
"So how would I know she put it there?""
Melissa's mouth tightened.
Daniel looked at the device again.
"Let's go downstairs.""
We followed him into the living room.
He placed both devices on the coffee table.
Two identical black objects.
One from the living room.
One from my bedroom.
My father took a photograph of them.
Then he searched online for the manufacturer's logo.
I watched his expression change as he read.
"What?"" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Melissa leaned over his shoulder.
"Daniel?""
He turned the phone toward her.
"These are professional audio recorders.""
She shrugged.
"So?""
"So they aren't ordinary household gadgets.""
"Maybe someone left them here.""
"Both of them?""
She didn't respond.
My father looked at me.
"Jaylen, do you know anyone who might have access to this house?""
I shook my head.
"Not really.""
"Friends?""
"Marcus came over last weekend, but he didn't go upstairs.""
Melissa suddenly laughed.
"Of course. Blame a stranger.""
I looked at her.
"I didn't blame anyone.""
"You're trying to make this complicated because you know you were caught.""
My father raised his hand.
"Enough, Melissa.""
She stared at him.
He rarely spoke to her like that.
Then he picked up the first device.
"There's something else.""
He turned it over.
A small strip of white tape was attached to the bottom.
On it, someone had written two letters.
D.M.
My father's initials.
Daniel stared at the tape.
His face lost color.
"What does that mean?"" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Melissa quickly reached for the device.
"Give me that.""
Daniel pulled it away.
"Why?""
"Because I don't want you touching something that could be dangerous.""
"It's a recorder, Melissa.""
"Exactly!""
He looked at her.
"Why are my initials on it?""
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Melissa did something unexpected.
She began laughing.
Not nervously.
Not politely.
She laughed as if the entire situation were ridiculous.
"Daniel, you're seriously going to accuse me of something because of two letters?""
"Then explain them.""
"I don't have to explain every little thing.""
My father stood.
"Actually, I think you do.""
She stepped closer.
"After everything I've done for this family, you're treating me like a criminal?""
"Answer the question.""
Melissa's eyes filled with tears.
"You know what? Maybe I should leave.""
She grabbed her handbag.
My father didn't stop her.
Instead, he walked toward the kitchen and called someone.
I couldn't hear the entire conversation, but I heard him say:
"Yes, I need someone to examine two recording devices. I think they may have been planted in my house.""
Melissa stopped near the front door.
Her expression changed.
She looked at me.
For the first time, I saw genuine hatred in her eyes.
Then she walked out.
The front door slammed.
I stood in the living room with my father.
Neither of us spoke for almost a minute.
Finally, Daniel sat down.
"Jaylen.""
I looked at him.
"Yes?""
He rubbed his face.
"I shouldn't have hit you.""
I waited.
He looked at my cheek.
"Are you hurt?""
I wanted to tell him that the pain was already fading.
I wanted to tell him that I forgave him.
I wanted to be the little boy who ran into his father's arms after falling off his bicycle.
But I wasn't that little boy anymore.
"You didn't even ask what happened," I said quietly.
Daniel lowered his eyes.
"I know.""
"You saw her on the floor, and you hit me.""
"I know.""
"You didn't believe me.""
He had no answer.
I walked toward the staircase.
"Jaylen, wait.""
I stopped.
"I'm sorry.""
I turned around.
"Are you sorry because you hit me, or because the camera caught you doing it?""
His face crumpled slightly.
"That's not fair.""
"Neither was what you did.""
I went upstairs.
That night, I barely slept.
Around midnight, I heard my father's bedroom door open.
Then footsteps.
He walked down the hallway and stopped outside my room.
I heard him hesitate.
Then he knocked.
"Jaylen?""
I didn't answer.
He knocked again.
"I know you're awake.""
I pulled the blanket over my head.
After a moment, he spoke.
"Someone is coming tomorrow morning to examine those devices.""
I sat up.
"Who?""
"A security specialist.""
"Why?""
"Because I want to know who planted them.""
I waited.
Then he added something that made me sit completely still.
"Jaylen, there's something else I need to tell you.""
I opened the door.
My father stood there holding an old photograph.
It showed him standing beside Melissa at a restaurant, smiling.
But I wasn't looking at their faces.
I was looking at the man standing behind them.
He was wearing a dark suit.
I recognized him immediately.
It was my mother's older brother.
My Uncle Robert.
The uncle my father had told me hadn't contacted our family in years.
"Dad," I whispered.
"Why is Uncle Robert in that picture?""
Daniel stared at the photograph.
"That's what I was hoping you could explain.""
I shook my head.
"I don't understand.""
He turned the picture over.
There was handwriting on the back.
A date from two months before my father's wedding to Melissa.
And beneath it, one sentence:
*THE BOY MUST NEVER FIND OUT WHAT HIS MOTHER LEFT BEHIND.*
My hands began trembling.
"What did Mom leave behind?""
My father looked toward the staircase, then back at me.
"I don't know, Jaylen.""
He paused.
"But I think Melissa does.""
Before I could ask another question, his phone vibrated.
A message appeared on the screen.
The sender's name was hidden.
But the message was clear.
*STOP LOOKING INTO THE RECORDERS. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOUR WIFE DID BEFORE SHE MARRIED YOU.*
My father read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
This time, it contained a photograph.
It showed Melissa standing outside our house three years earlier.
Beside her was a man I had never seen before.
And in the man's arms was a little girl.
My father zoomed in on the picture.
His lips parted.
"That's impossible," he whispered.
I looked at him.
"What's impossible?""
He slowly lowered the phone.
"Because that man...""
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Then he looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.
"Jaylen, I think Melissa had another family before she married me.""
I stared at the photograph.
But the little girl was what frightened me most.
She was wearing a necklace.
A silver heart-shaped necklace.
The same necklace my mother had worn in every family photograph.
May you like
The necklace my father told me had been buried with her.
And suddenly, I understood that the lies in our house might have started long before Melissa ever became my stepmother.
