Chapter 2: The Digital Witness
Sarah’s hand shook as she thrust her phone toward her husband. "Look at the recording, Mark! I’ve been filming her for three days! I couldn't understand why the baby was always lethargic, why she stopped gaining weight, why she cried the moment Clara walked into the room."
Mark looked down at the screen. The footage was grainy, captured by a hidden nanny-cam disguised as a humidifier. It showed Clara at 3:00 AM, pacing the nursery. She wasn't rocking the baby to sleep. She was sitting in the rocking chair, staring at the ceiling, her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated malice. She would mix a powder—not formula, but something gray and gritty—into the milk, shaking the bottle with a rhythmic, hypnotic violence.
Mark’s face drained of color. The paralysis of realization set in, turning his limbs to lead. His gaze snapped from the phone to the woman in the white uniform. The "sweet guardian" hadn't just been medicating the baby; she had been systematically breaking her spirit.
