At 3 a.m., I jolted awake when I heard my daughter’s bedroom door click open.

Emma stood in the doorway, her eyes burning with the intensity of a mother’s wrath. Mark was frozen, halfway to Lily’s bed, and the look of surprise on his face was almost comical—almost, if the reality of the situation hadn’t been so dire. Lily’s wide eyes darted between her parents, searching for assurance or escape.

“Emma, what are you doing?” Mark’s voice was deceptively calm, a thin veneer trying to veil the situation’s gravity. But Emma could see through him now, a stranger wearing the skin of the man she once loved.

“What am I doing?” Emma spat, her voice cold. “What are you doing, Mark? What’s going on here?”

Lily recoiled at the accusation in the air, her small frame shrinking further into the bed’s corner. Emma moved towards her, wrapping an arm protectively around her daughter, drawing her away from the man who had once shared their lives.

Mark took a tentative step back, his eyes shifting from Emma to the camera peeking out from the stuffed rabbit on the shelf. Realization dawned on him. “You’ve misunderstood—” he began, but Emma cut him off.