Ivy sensed trouble when three babysitters left after one day. She concealed a camera in her living room, and the footage shocked her.
The cereal spoon in a half-full bowl sparkled in the early sunshine streaming through the kitchen curtains. As my son Noah babbled happily, I wiped applesauce from his chin, blissfully oblivious that I was seconds from losing it.
My phone buzzed again on the counter.
No need to search. Already knew.
Still, I examined screen. Bella, our new babysitter, writes:
“Hi Ivy, Sorry, I won’t continue with your family. Thank you for understanding.”
The end. No explanation. Nothing indicates what went wrong.
Standing still, I read the message again, thinking I misinterpreted it. But it was obvious—babysitter number four in two weeks had left us.
I saw my five-year-old daughter Mia singing while constructing a block tower in the living room. Noah lumbered over to her and shrieked with joy when she let him knock it down.
Good kids—kind, playful, never destructive or unpleasant. Why did all sitters leave after 48 hours?
A creaky front door opened. With a tray of lattes, my best friend Natalie entered. I smiled weakly as she gave me mine.
“Bad timing?” she questioned.
“Perfect timing,” I sighed, sitting down.
Raising an eyebrow. What now?
I gave her my phone. While reading Bella’s letter, she whistled softly. “That’s the fourth, right?”
I nodded. “And I can’t understand. All of them are amazing—I interview and verify references. Without warning, they quit.”
Natalie sipped her coffee slowly, thinking. “You don’t think it’s the kids?”
“No,” I insisted. Mia is courteous and Noah is a handful, but he’s two. That’s normal. Something else is happening.”
Leaning forward, Natalie What about Eli?
I blinked. “What about him?”
“Well,” she responded slowly, “has anyone ever quit while he was away?”
The question impacted me harder than intended. I recalled. Eli was home every time someone departed. Every time.
My stomach twisted.
I answered, “No way,” laughing. “He’s stressed lately. But he’s not like that.”
Natalie stared at me without speaking. Something about the stillness worried me more than words.
Later that night, Eli snored next me in bed. It kept running through my mind. Could he be why? Was it possible?
I doubted it. But I needed the truth.
When Eli departed for work the following morning, I searched our closet for Mia’s baby nanny cam. I positioned it on the living room bookshelf to capture everything without being noticeable.
Not paranoid anymore. The topic was replies.
I found another sitter by noon. Clara was pleasant, cheerful, and ready to begin. She instantly connected with the kids, and I thought maybe this time would be different.
I didn’t work. I watched the nanny cam on my phone in my vehicle down the block.
First hour went well. Clara entertained Mia, bounced Noah on her hip, and cleaned up their toys. My shoulders relaxed gently.
Eli returned home.
I sat up straighter, heart racing.
He entered with his customary elegance, making Clara grin. “Hi there. Everything okay?
Surprised, Clara peered. Yes, everything’s amazing. Kids are great.”
Eli laughed and put his keys down. Pleased to hear that. Can we chat?
Sitting on the sofa, they barely fit.
I boosted the loudness.
“I just wanted to check in,” Eli said. “Sarah’s been struggling lately. Postpartum issues. “She’s fragile right now.”
What?
My jaw fell.
A grin fell from Clara. “Oh. I did not know.”
He added, “She hides it well,” smoothly. “But it’s been hard on us all. Things ended poorly with the last several babysitters.
Slightly leaned in.
“No pressure if you feel uneasy. You may go before things become worse.”
Clara looked at the kids and then him. “I dunno. The situation seems normal.”
Eli dropped his voice. “They all say so. We agree that less involvement is preferable. Makes everything simpler.”
Clara rose suddenly. “I think I should go.”
Eli grinned. Of course. I get it.”
With that, she went.
I froze in the vehicle, gazing at my computer.
He did it. Again. Manipulated her. Lying about me. Driven her away.
I never noticed—until now.
Natalie had offered to keep the kids the following morning, so I waited until they were settled.
I saw Eli butter bread in the kitchen without a care.
“We need to talk,” I said.
He looked up. “Sure. What’s up?
With a racing heart, I folded my arms. “I know what you did to the babysitters.”
His hands stopped. “What are you discussing?”
“Nanny cam. I saw everything, Eli.”
Silence.
He gently turned to face me after dropping the knife in the sink.
“You spied on me?”
“Don’t,” I said. Let’s not talk about me. Tell Clara I have postpartum depression. You told her to resign. Just like others.”
Sighing, he rubbed his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ivy.”
Then why? My voice broke. Why lie? Why sabotage every sitter I hired?
He yelled, “Because I didn’t want you going back to work!” “Do you want to hear that?”
I recoiled. Words were horrible. At least they were honest.
“I liked having you here,” he admitted, softly. The kids need you. I need you. When you go, everything falls apart.”
Shaking my head, I was shocked. “You decided for me? Your lies and manipulation made me believe I was the problem.”
I wanted to keep our family together.”
“No,” I insisted. “You tried to control me.”
Jaw constricted. “Not like that.”
“Exactly like that.”
I retreated as he advanced.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
“Ivy—”
“Not forever. Not yet. Taking the kids to my sister’s for a bit. I need room. And time to discover out what this marriage is truly founded on—because it looks like fear and lies.”
He didn’t fight. Didn’t beg. I stood there while packing upstairs.
That night, I drove away with the kids—Mia singing in the backseat, Noah chattering at clouds—as the home behind us shrank in the rearview mirror.
My heart hurt. It felt light too.
I finally felt in control after weeks or months.
I had no idea what was ahead. I knew one thing:
I would never allow anyone—especially the guy who professed to love me—define me or limit my potential.
