I spoke to my son about it, too.
“Mom, Rebecca loves you very much. You’re probably just tired.”
But one evening, when my daughter-in-law thought I was already
asleep, I overheard her having a phone conversation.
“Yes, it’s happening again. If Michael finds out what’s going on at night, everything will change.”
Then she lowered her voice and added:
“I can’t keep doing this every night. I’m afraid that one day, it will be too late.”
My heart sank.
The next day, I placed a tiny hidden camera on one of the shelves in my bedroom, positioning it so that it could capture both my bed and the door.
That evening, Rebecca brought me the glass of water
again.
I drank it, closed my eyes, and waited.
The next morning, my hand hurt even more.
I immediately opened the recording.
At 2:17 a.m., my bedroom door opened.
Rebecca walked in, but she wasn’t alone.
