Sunlight spilled into the kitchen as I cleaned up Lily’s cereal and wiped Max’s sticky fingers. My phone buzzed, and my heart sank—it was Megan, our new babysitter, quitting after one day. “I can’t continue,” her message read. Confusion hit me hard. Megan was kind and eager when I hired her, just like the two before her who also left abruptly. Lily, 5, played with her toys in the living room, and Max, 2, toddled happily. They were fine, so why did every babysitter vanish? I stared at the text, wondering if I was the problem. When my friend Julie came for coffee, I poured out my frustration. “Three sitters quit in a row, Julie. I don’t get it.”
Julie sipped her coffee, thoughtful. “Are you asking too much?” she asked. I shook my head—my kids were good, my pay fair. Then she said, “Maybe it’s not the job. Maybe it’s someone in the house.” Her words stung, pointing to my husband, Dave. I dismissed it—he’d supported my return to work, hadn’t he? But doubt lingered. Tired of guessing, I decided to find out. The next morning, after Dave left, I dug out an old nanny cam from Max’s baby days and hid it on a living room shelf. I told myself it was just to ease my mind, but I needed answers. I hired Rachel, a cheerful student, hoping she’d stay.
Instead of going to work, I parked nearby, watching the nanny cam feed on my phone. Rachel played with the kids, all smiles. Then Dave came home early. My pulse raced as he greeted Rachel casually. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Great,” she said. He sat her down, saying, “The kids can be tough, and Sarah’s struggling with postpartum depression.” My jaw dropped—I wasn’t depressed. He added, “If it’s too much, it’s okay to leave now. I’ve had issues with sitters before, and it can get messy if they don’t go quietly.” Rachel paled, grabbed her bag, and left. I sat in my car, stunned. Dave was pushing them out with lies.
The next morning, I faced Dave in the kitchen. “I know what you’re doing,” I said, voice steady. “I saw the nanny cam.” His eyes flickered with guilt, but he deflected. “You spied on me?” I held firm. “You lied about me, Dave, saying I’m depressed, scaring sitters away. Why?” He sighed, admitting, ‘You’re needed at home, Sarah. I thought it was best.’ I was floored. “You thought you’d decide for me?” I asked, tears rising. He claimed he was protecting me, but I saw control, not care. “I love our kids, but I need my work too,” I said. His silence spoke volumes. “I need time,” I said, packing a bag for the kids and me. Leaving hurt, but staying under his control hurt more. I stepped toward a future I’d shape myself.
