Finding the hidden camera tucked under my bathtub was terrifying, and realizing my son had put it there was even worse. But his tearful explanation made me realize he was on a mission to reawaken a part of me I thought was lost forever.
The jigsaw puzzle on our kitchen table had stayed the same for weeks, and I was getting worried. My son, Drake, and I used to love them, but things were much different now.
A puzzle on a table | Source: Pexels
These days, he would rush straight to his room after school and shut the door firmly behind him. That is… after coming home later than usual.
I stirred the pasta sauce and checked my phone again: 6:45 p.m. Two hours late, just like yesterday. Through the kitchen window, I watched our neighbors walking their dogs and laughing together.
Our house used to buzz with that kind of energy. Now it felt like Drake and I were living in separate worlds, connected only by quick hellos and leftover dinners. Did this happen to all pre-teens?
A woman concerned | Source: Pexels
A few minutes later, the front door creaked open.
“Hey, Mom.” Drake’s voice floated through the hallway, followed by the thud of his backpack hitting the floor.
“Kitchen,” I called out happily. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
He poked his head around the corner. I saw his messy hair covered by a backward baseball cap. Something about his eyes made me feel like my boy was back, even for just a second.
Boy with a backwards baseball cap | Source: Pexels
But they soon darted to the floor when I looked at him. I knew something was going on, but I had no idea how to address it. My boy almost seemed older than his few years.
“Sorry I’m late. Chess club ran long.”
“Chess club?” I raised my eyebrows. “Yesterday it was math tutoring. And Tuesday was yearbook committee.”
“Oh yeah, I do all those now.” He shuffled his feet. “Can I eat in my room? Got tons of homework.”
Math book and notebook | Source: Pexels
I gripped the wooden spoon tighter, accidentally dripping tomato sauce onto the stovetop, and decided enough was enough. “Drake, what’s really going on?” I asked, turning and putting one hand on my hip.
“Nothing! I told you, just busy with school stuff,” he shrugged and moved further into the kitchen. Without meeting my gaze, he grabbed a plate, scooped up some pasta, and disappeared before I could press further.
Pasta dish | Source: Pexels
I sighed and wondered to the heavens for the millionth time if I should intervene. Maybe I wouldn’t get an answer from up above, but I could try to find some of my own.
I checked the hallway, and his door was shut as usual, but he had left his backpack in the living room. It was my chance.
Inside, crumpled between textbooks, I found a piece of paper with an address scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting: “1247 Maple Street. Don’t be late. This is it.”
Backpack on the floor | Source: Unsplash
What was going on? I wondered, horrified.
***
That night, I found myself going through his old baby photos, spread across my bedroom floor like pieces of a life I barely recognized anymore.
There he was, two years old, grinning with spaghetti sauce all over his face. That happy little boy used to tell me everything. Now he barely looked at me.
Toddler covered in spaghetti sauce | Source: Midjourney
The parent-teacher conference from last week played in my head.
“Drake seems… distracted lately,” Mrs. Peterson had said, sliding his failed math test across her desk. “He’s been falling asleep in class. When he’s awake, he’s always scribbling in his notebook, but it’s not notes from the lesson.”
How could he be getting a grade like that with math tutoring? Was it time to pull the plug on all other clubs?
A math test | Source: Pexels
Either way, I knew sleep wouldn’t come, so I decided to take a shower.
The bathroom was my sanctuary, the one place I could relax and belt out old songs without anyone hearing. Tonight’s selection was “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”
The steam rose around me as I hit the chorus, and I remembered how I used to dream of being on stage.
A woman washing her hair | Source: Pexels
“Where do we go now?” I sang, letting my voice soar like it used to at the coffee shop open mics when my future hopes were far grander than what reality allowed.
Sadly, those wishes were extinguished the moment, Tom, Drake’s father and my ex, left us for his new family in Seattle.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past again. The present was much more important. I finished cleaning myself up and exited my shower. As I dried my hair, I felt the pull on my ear and heard a clink on my tiled floor.
A woman drying up | Source: Pexels
My earring! I bent down to get it and saw the crystal’s shining light reflecting from just under the bathtub. Except… something else caught my eye.
There, hidden under the edge, was an old nanny cam I used when Drake was a baby. And it was ON. I immediately went pale. But I examined the angle. It would only be recording my feet. I didn’t get it.
Still, my hands shook as I took it and carefully wrapped myself in a towel to march straight to Drake’s room. The sound of his furious typing stopped when I pounded on the door.
A woman holding a small camera | Source: Pexels
“Just a minute!” he called out, and I heard drawers being opened and shut. What in the world?
“Drake, open this door right now!”
Finally, I heard footsteps and the door swung open.
He stood there in his oversized gaming headphones, and his own face turned white as soon as I held up the nanny cam.
A boy with headphones | Source: Pexels
“Drake, what is this? Why was this hidden in the bathroom?!” I asked, as my anger and bravado turned to extreme worry.
When he remained silent, I gulped and asked, “Have you been… recording me in the bathroom?”
His eyes widened at that. His expression was terrified. “Oh no… Mom, you weren’t supposed to find that. IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK. I can explain!”
“Then start explaining.” I pushed past him into his room and looked at his computer. The screen showed some kind of video editing software. Oh, no! What is he doing?
A laptop on a desk | Source: Pexels
But before I could panic more, Drake spoke. “I…” He slumped onto his bed. “You weren’t supposed to find out yet.”
“Find out what? That my son is making videos of…” I couldn’t even say it.
“No! Mom, listen,” he pleaded as tears welled up in his eyes. “Remember when you used to sing at the coffee shop open mics? Before Dad left?”
The question caught me off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”
A woman looking confused | Source: Pexels
“You were so happy then. Now you only sing in the shower, when you think no one can hear you.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “But you’re still amazing, Mom. I wanted to show you that.”
He reached for his laptop and turned it toward me. His fingers pressed play, and suddenly, the screen showed me… well, a music video.
I saw a sunset over the city and streets filled with people chasing their dreams. But the main part was the soundtrack with my voice, clear and strong. It was playing “My Way.”
A sunset over New York | Source: Pexels
“I met an old man, Mr. Arthur. I’ve been going to his studio after school,” Drake continued. “He’s been teaching me video editing. I wanted to surprise you for your birthday, show you that you shouldn’t give up on your dreams just because…”
“Because your father left?” The words stuck in my throat.
“He owns all these old instruments, and he lets me practice drums while he teaches me about making videos.” Drake’s words tumbled out faster now. “I’ve been doing extra chores for neighbors to pay for studio time. Mr. Arthur says I have a good eye for it.”
A drum set | Source: Pexels
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you worry about everything now.” His voice cracked. “Ever since Dad left, it’s like you stopped believing in good surprises. I thought if I could just finish the video, show you how amazing you still are…”
Tears welled and fell before I could stop them. All this time, I’d been so worried about what he was hiding. Never once did I consider he might be worried about me too.
A woman crying | Source: Pexels
“You could have just talked to me,” I said softly, wrapping my arms around him.
“Would you have listened?” He looked up at me, suddenly seeming older than 11. “You always say you’re fine, but I hear you crying sometimes. And you never sing anymore, except in the shower.”
I pulled him close, feeling his thin shoulders shake. “I’m sorry, baby. I guess we’ve both been keeping too many things inside.”
We stayed in silence for a few minutes before I remembered something. “Oh! Is Mr. Arthur’s studio on 1247 Maple Street?”
A music studio | Source: Midjourney
“Yes!” Drake said, but then frowned. “How did you know?”
“In the interest of honesty…” I began and confessed to rummaging through his backpack. Shockingly, we just laughed at each other.
***
The next day, we visited Mr. Arthur’s studio together. He turned out to be a gentle giant with calloused hands and kind eyes, surrounded by dusty guitars and vintage recording equipment.
Music equipment | Source: Pexels
“Your boy’s got talent,” he told me and showed me more of Drake’s videos. “And so do you.”
And now that the secrets were out, Drake and I finally finished the jigsaw puzzle together. I also sang outside the shower for the first time in years.
What’s more, next week, I’m singing at the coffee shop again. My son will be there, recording every moment. This time, I won’t be afraid of a little camera.
A woman singing a microphone | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Posted a Picture of My Partner and Me on Facebook for the First Time & Immediately Got a Message: ‘You Must Run from Him. Now’
Social media has a way of creeping into your life, becoming a part of your relationships, whether you like it or not. It’s harmless for the most part — cute pictures and updates for friends and family. But sometimes, things take a turn you never see coming.
Mark and I had been together for almost a year. Honestly, he was the perfect boyfriend. Sweet, caring, and always making me laugh, whether we were out hiking or just watching TV on a lazy Sunday. I felt so lucky to have him in my life. So, I figured it was time to make things official on Facebook.
A happy couple on a hike | Source: Midjourney
We were on a hiking trail one afternoon when we snapped a picture together. It was cute — us smiling with the sun shining behind us. “Just me and my favorite person on our latest adventure!” I captioned it, adding a couple of heart emojis. I shared the post, excited to share a bit of our happiness with the world.
Then, ten minutes later, I got a notification that made my stomach drop. It wasn’t a like or a comment. It was a message: “YOU MUST RUN FROM HIM. NOW.”
A shocked woman looking at her phone | Source: Midjourney
I stared at my phone, my heart pounding. Who would send something like that? I clicked on the profile, hoping for some clue, but there was nothing — no info, no pictures, just a blank, empty page. The message itself was terrifying enough, but this? It was like a ghost had sent it.
I glanced at Mark, who was busy tossing our backpacks into the car, completely unaware of the storm building inside me. Should I tell him?
An unknown man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
My mind raced, but before I could even process what was happening, another message popped up: “Don’t tell Mark anything. Listen carefully. Smile, don’t be aggressive with him. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You got it?”
I could feel the blood drain from my face. What was this? Who was sending these messages? And why were they so certain I was in danger?
A concerned young woman looking at her phone | Source: Midjourney
I looked over at Mark again. He waved at me with that same easy smile he always had. He didn’t look dangerous. But the messages had a strange kind of urgency, and they scared me enough that I decided to play along, at least for now.
I forced a smile and walked over to him, trying to keep my voice steady. “Ready to go?”
“Everything okay?” Mark asked, his eyes searching mine.
A concerned man on the couch | Source: Midjourney
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah, it’s just my mom. I’ll text her later.”
That night, I couldn’t shake the messages. They replayed in my mind over and over, making me question everything. Mark had always been so sweet, so loving. But what if… what if I didn’t really know him? What if there was something darker beneath the surface?
A sleepless woman in her bed | Source: Midjourney
Over the next few days, things only got worse. I’d catch him staring at me, not saying anything, just watching. It was unsettling. One night, I was reading on the couch, and when I looked up, there he was, his eyes locked on me. When I asked if everything was okay, he shrugged like it was no big deal. But it felt like a big deal.
A young suspicious man | Source: Midjourney
Then, one morning, my phone buzzed with another message from the same anonymous profile: “Meet me at Bayou Bakery tomorrow at 2 p.m. I’ll give you the evidence. Don’t tell Mark. Make up an excuse.”
My hands were shaking as I read it. Evidence? Of what? What could they possibly have on him? I needed to know. But how could I lie to Mark? What if he was watching me too closely? What if he already suspected something?
A secret figure writing a message | Source: Midjourney
“I’m meeting my mom for lunch tomorrow,” I said casually over breakfast, trying not to let my voice tremble.
Mark didn’t look up from his coffee right away. “Really? You didn’t mention it before.”
“Oh, yeah,” I replied quickly, my heart racing. “She called last night. Last minute thing.”
Mark finally met my eyes, his expression unreadable. “Alright,” he said slowly.
I tried to focus on my coffee, but all I could feel was the weight of his gaze as if he was trying to see straight through me.
A man talking to his girlfriend | Source: Midjourney
The next day, I left the house. As I slipped out the door, I could feel Mark’s eyes on me. I tried to act normal, but my stomach was in knots. Every time I looked back at him, there was that same unreadable look on his face. Was he suspicious? Did he know something was wrong?
I got to Bayou Bakery early. My heart was pounding as I sat at a small table near the window. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries did nothing to calm my nerves. Every time the door opened, I jumped, expecting to see someone mysterious with the answers to all my questions.
A woman sitting in a cafe | Source: Midjourney
But ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Nothing.
I stared at my phone, wondering if this had all been some kind of cruel joke. Just as I was about to leave, the door swung open again, and my heart nearly stopped. It was Mark.
“Ellie?” His voice was cautious, confused. “What are you doing here? I thought you were meeting your mom.”
A shocked man in a cafe | Source: Midjourney
My throat went dry. “I… I thought you were at work. What are you doing here?”
He walked over and sat down across from me, his eyes scanning the room. “I got a message. Someone told me to come here. They said I needed to see something about you.”
My head was spinning. “You got a message? About me?”
He nodded, his face full of uncertainty. “Yeah. I didn’t believe it at first, but then you started acting weird. I didn’t know what to think.”
A woman talking to her boyfriend in a cafe | Source: Midjourney
I stared at him, my pulse racing. This whole time, he had been receiving the same kind of messages I had. It didn’t make any sense. Why would someone do this to us?
Before we could say another word, the door to the bakery opened again. I looked up, and there was Andrew, one of our mutual friends, grinning like a fool. He walked straight over to our table and pulled up a chair like he had been waiting for this moment all along.
A happy redhead man walking into a cafe | Source: Midjourney
“Surprise!” he said with a smirk.
Mark and I just gaped at him, completely bewildered.
“Andrew, what the hell is going on?” I demanded, my voice shaking with anger.
Andrew leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “Relax. It was just a prank. Well, more like a test.”
“A test?” Mark’s tone was ice-cold. “You scared the hell out of us, Andrew. Why would you do something like that?”
a shocked man sitting in a cafe | Source: Midjourney
Andrew shrugged, looking a little less smug now. “I’ve seen too many relationships fall apart because of rumors, lies, and social media drama. I wanted to see if you two really trusted each other.”
I felt my blood boil. “You sent those messages? You made me think Mark was dangerous, and now you’re sitting here like it’s no big deal?”
An angry woman talking to her friend | Source: Midjourney
Andrew held up his hands. “Okay, okay, maybe I went too far. But seriously, Ellie. Mark. Instead of coming to each other and talking about it, you both followed some anonymous messages. What does that say about your relationship?”
I glanced at Mark, and he looked just as furious as I felt. But there was something else there too — an uncomfortable truth. Andrew had a point, even if it was buried under layers of cruelty.
An uncomfortable man | Source: Midjourney
The rest of the conversation was tense. Andrew apologized, though it didn’t feel like enough. He explained that he’d been curious to see if we would trust each other when faced with something scary, or if we’d go behind each other’s backs.
And while we were furious at him for putting us through that, there was a part of me that realized how much the situation had revealed.
A redhead man sitting in a cafe | Source: Midjourney
When Mark and I left the bakery, neither of us said much at first. The shock of the whole thing was still settling in, but the weight of what we’d just experienced wasn’t lost on me.
Finally, I broke the silence. “Do you think Andrew’s right?”
Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I hate to admit it, but maybe. I mean, we didn’t talk to each other. We let a few anonymous messages get in our heads.”
A couple talking on the street | Source: Midjourney
We both knew trust was something that couldn’t be taken for granted. And while Andrew’s prank was cruel, it showed us that the only way to keep our relationship strong was to face our fears and doubts head-on — together.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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