The camera stayed for a while.
Not because I still feared an intruder, but because after a week of uncertainty, I needed proof that our new arrangement was actually working.
It was.
Mika returned to sleeping in the middle of her mattress.
No more twisted blankets.
No more mornings complaining that the bed was narrow.
A few weeks later, I asked whether she remembered being scared.
She shrugged with the casual confidence children have once a danger has been explained.
“I thought maybe there was a ghost.”
I laughed.
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Because you would say ghosts aren’t real.”
“You’re right.”
She leaned closer and whispered, “Dad is heavier than a ghost anyway.”
I laughed so loudly Ramón heard us from the hallway.
“What are you two talking about?”
“Nothing,” Mika and I said together.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and Mika dissolved into giggles.
That sound stayed with me.
The camera had frightened me because I installed it expecting to discover danger.
Instead, it exposed something quieter: a family that loved one another but had stopped saying clearly what we needed.
Mika needed to feel safe in her own room.
I needed my husband to take her fears seriously.
And Ramón needed time with the daughter who was growing up while he spent his days caring for other people.
His mistake was not loving her too much.
It was trying to steal moments with her after midnight rather than admitting how much he was missing while she was awake.
One night months later, I passed Mika’s room and heard Ramón reading from the blue book.
His voice was terrible at character impressions.
Mika corrected him every few sentences.
“No, Dad.
The old woman sounds like this.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.
You’re doing it wrong.”
“Then maybe you should read it.”
“I’m eight.
You’re the parent.”
I stopped outside the doorway and smiled.
A few minutes later, Ramón stepped into the hall and gently pulled the door nearly closed behind him.
“You coming to bed?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Your bed?”
He gave me a look.
“Our bed.”
From inside Mika’s room came a sleepy voice.
“Dad?”
He turned immediately.
“Yes?”
“Good night.”
His face softened.
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Then he walked away with me instead of going back inside.
The next morning, Mika found me making garlic rice and eggs again.
She hugged my waist exactly as she had that first morning.
I looked down at her.
“How was your bed?”
