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Each night, my husband chose to stay in our daughter’s room — and I made a decision.

I watched the footage with a sense of dread gnawing at the pit of my stomach. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the stillness of the room. The dim light from the nightlight cast soft shadows across the walls, shaping the familiar contours of Emma’s bedroom into something almost unrecognizable. Toys and books lay scattered, remnants of a day filled with laughter and play, now silent witnesses to the unsettling scene unfolding before…

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