The timestamp blinked 2:13 a.m., cold and unforgiving on the kitchen security footage.
He wasn’t calm. He wasn’t measured. He was shouting—but not at me. At Harper.
The audio crackled, then filled the courtroom, sharp and cutting.
“Stop crying! Do you have any idea how much stress you cause? If you tell your mother, you’ll ruin everything. Do you want that? Do you?”
A collective gasp swept through the room.
Harper’s tiny, trembling voice answered.
“I just wanted Mommy…”
Then a sudden crash—a glass hitting the counter, shattering into pieces.
The video continued, mercifully brief. Caleb pacing, fists clenched, his face twisted in a way I had only seen behind closed doors. Then his voice again, colder this time:
“Don’t say a word. This stays between us. I’m the only one keeping things together here.”
And then—black screen. Silence.
No one moved. No one spoke.
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