Chapter 2: Someone Was Watching
"Ma'am…
are you sure your daughter sent you this photo today?"
My stomach dropped.
"What do you mean?
It came from her number.
She wrote the message herself."
Silence.
"Ma'am," the counselor said slowly, "your daughter doesn't have her phone with her.
We collected all devices on arrival.
It's camp policy."
I couldn't breathe.
"Then who sent me that photo?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"That's what I need to check."
I heard muffled voices on her end.
A door closing.
Then footsteps.
She came back on the line two minutes later, and her voice was different now.
Quieter.
Careful.
"Ma'am, I need you to stay calm.
We're doing a check of all the girls right now."
"Is my daughter there?" My voice cracked.
"Just tell me she's there."
She didn't answer that.
Instead, she said: "Can you tell me exactly what you saw in the photo?"
I looked at the image again.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone.
In the background of the photo, just over my daughter's left shoulder — half-hidden behind a tree — was a figure.
Not a camper.
Not a counselor.
Someone standing very still.
Watching her.
And in their hand was something I couldn't fully make out.
But it wasn't a phone.
May you like
What that figure was holding — and what the camp found when they checked — is something no mother should ever have to hear.
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