Sunlight warmed the kitchen as I cleaned up Lily’s breakfast and wiped Max’s hands. My phone buzzed, and my stomach dropped—Megan, our latest babysitter, quit after one day. “I can’t continue,” she texted. My heart raced. She’d been perfect, like the two before her who also left without warning. Lily, 5, played quietly in the living room, and Max, 2, giggled as he wandered. They were great kids, so why did sitters keep quitting? I felt lost, doubting myself. When my friend Julie came for coffee, I vented. “Three sitters gone, Julie. What’s wrong?” She sipped her drink, thoughtful. “Are you too demanding?” she asked.
I shook my head—my expectations were normal, my pay good. She hesitated, then said, “Maybe it’s not the job. Maybe it’s someone else.” Her words hinted at Dave, my husband, but I brushed it off. He’d seemed fine with me working again. Yet her suggestion lingered, stirring unease. Fed up with the mystery, I decided to act. The next day, after Dave left, I found our old nanny cam and hid it in the living room, nestled among books. I told myself it was just for clarity, but I needed truth. I hired Rachel, a bright student, hoping she’d stick around.
Instead of heading to work, I parked nearby, watching the nanny cam feed. Rachel laughed with the kids, everything normal. Then Dave walked in early. My pulse quickened as he greeted Rachel. “How’s it going?” he asked, too casual. “Great,” she replied. He pulled her aside, saying, “The kids are tough, and Sarah’s dealing with postpartum depression.” My breath caught—that wasn’t true. He added, “If it’s too much, leave now. I’ve had sitters cause problems before.” Rachel paled, nodded, and left quickly. I sat in my car, reeling. Dave was lying to drive them away.
The next day, I faced Dave in the kitchen. “I saw the nanny cam,” I said, voice calm but hurt. “You scared the sitters off.” He deflected, “You spied on me?” I pressed, “You lied about me, Dave. Why?” He admitted, “I thought you belonged at home with the kids.” Tears welled up. “You decided my life?” I asked. He claimed it was to help me, but I saw control. “I love our kids, but I need more,” I said. His silence cut deep. “I need time,” I said, packing for the kids and me. Leaving was painful, but staying under his lies was worse. I walked out, ready to build a future on my terms.
