Then I noticed the timestamps.
The items I remembered losing had disappeared during hours when Yolanda was not present in the house. My chest tightened as I rewound further, slowing the playback, watching days instead of minutes. That was when another figure appeared repeatedly on the screen. My sister in law, Elaine Foster.
Elaine had been staying with us for several months following a painful separation. I trusted her completely. She had full access to the house, knew the blind spots, understood the rhythms of the cameras. I watched her open my dresser drawer, remove the watch, and slip it into her purse without hesitation. I watched her take the cash I had deliberately left behind.
My hands shook as I switched cameras.
In the nursery footage, I saw Yolanda returning late at night after her shift should have ended. She moved quietly, lifting crying children from their beds, rocking them until their breathing slowed. I watched her warm bottles when the nanny had called in sick. I watched her sit on the floor through the night when the boys were feverish, leaving only after dawn.
Then another clip surfaced.