The next evening, our family gathered for Kaylee’s sixteenth birthday. Joanne arrived early, along with Amy’s parents, Harold and Dot Brennan, who’d driven from Lubbock. Tara greeted everyone with hugs and smiles, calling Kaylee her sweetheart and telling stories about what a wonderful stepmother she’d been. If I hadn’t found the camper the previous night, I might have believed every word. Kaylee sat beside me, pale and exhausted, wearing a blue sweater Joanne had brought her. She barely touched her lasagna and flinched whenever Tara raised her voice. After dinner, I brought out the strawberry cake and lit sixteen candles, plus one for good luck, just as Amy used to do. Kaylee smiled for the first time since I’d returned. Then Tara suddenly announced that we needed more ice and asked Rick to help her get some from the chest freezer in the garage. The moment they left, Kaylee pulled the old baby monitor from her pocket and placed it beside the cake. She explained that she’d discovered it in a box of her mother’s belongings while searching for blankets. She’d hidden the transmitter behind paint cans in the garage, where Tara and Rick frequently went to discuss things they didn’t want her to hear. The receiver was inside the camper. Using an old phone, Kaylee had recorded thirty-one nights of their conversations. My hands shook as I held the little white monitor, still marked with the faded yellow duck sticker Amy had attached years earlier. Joanne immediately started recording on her own phone. Kaylee looked at me and nodded. I turned up the volume. At first, there was only static and the sound of a freezer opening. Then Tara’s voice came through clearly. “One more week in that camper, and she’ll agree to anything.” Rick laughed and asked about the trust. Tara replied that it contained $310,000 and that once I signed the paperwork, they could find a way to access it. She explained her plan to convince me the Utah program cost $10,000 a month when the real price was closer to $4,000, then request the inflated payments herself. Rick asked about the missing forty dollars Kaylee had supposedly stolen. Tara casually admitted he’d taken it to buy scratch tickets. My daughter had been punished for something Rick had done. Then Tara explained that she knew I’d believe her because I was away for weeks at a time and trusted her to manage everything at home. Amy’s father stood up, his hands pressed against the table. I couldn’t move. I’d spent years protecting my daughter’s trust from financial misuse while failing to protect my daughter from the people living inside our home. Then Tara said something that made my blood run cold: “Just make sure the heater stays unplugged tonight. Cold makes kids stop arguing.” Kaylee began crying. She explained that Rick regularly disconnected the heater and that the bungee cord prevented her from leaving the camper at night, even to use the bathroom. She’d been forced to keep a bucket inside. I held her close and apologized for believing Tara’s accusations instead of asking what was really happening. Before I could say anything else, the garage door opened. Tara walked into the dining room carrying a bag of ice, with Rick following behind. She stopped when she saw our faces. Then she noticed the baby monitor beside Kaylee’s birthday cake. The bag slipped from her hands and crashed onto the floor. She stared at my daughter and demanded, “What have you done?” I stepped between them. “I heard everything,” I told her. Tara went pale, then quickly began insisting that Kaylee had manipulated the recordings. I asked whether Rick had stolen the forty dollars and whether they’d deliberately left my daughter without heat in nineteen-degree weather. Neither answered. Then Joanne raised her phone and said she’d contacted the sheriff’s office. Headlights suddenly appeared outside our window, and someone knocked at the front door. I opened it to find a deputy standing on the porch. He introduced himself, looked past me toward the birthday decorations, and asked—
