CHAP 1 — “My Bed Feels Too Small”
Lily had slept alone since preschool.
Not because I wanted distance from her. I loved my daughter more than anything in the world. But I wanted her to grow up knowing her room was safe, her space belonged to her, and nighttime did not have to mean clinging to an adult to feel protected.
Her bedroom was beautiful.
A wide bed with a soft mattress. A bookshelf full of fairy tales and comics. Stuffed animals lined neatly on the shelf. A warm yellow nightlight glowing beside the door.
Every night, I read her a story, kissed her forehead, checked the closet because she liked the ritual, and left the door open just a little.
Lily had never been afraid of sleeping alone.
Until one morning, while I was making breakfast, she walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.
“Mommy,” she whispered, “I didn’t sleep well.”
I smiled and turned from the stove. “What happened, sweetheart?”
She frowned, searching for the words.
“My bed felt too small.”
I laughed softly. “Your bed is huge. Did your stuffed animals take over again?”
She shook her head.
“No. I cleaned it.”
I thought it was just a sleepy complaint.
But then it happened again.
And again.
For a week, Lily woke up tired, quiet, and strangely tense.
“My bed feels cramped.”
“I keep waking up at the edge.”
“I feel like I’m being pushed over.”
Then one morning, she looked at me with frightened eyes and asked, “Mom… did you come into my room last night?”
My smile disappeared.
“No. Why?”
She twisted the hem of her pajama shirt.
“Because it felt like someone was lying next to me.”
That night, I told my husband Nathan.
He barely looked up from his coffee.
“Kids imagine things,” he said. “She’s probably dreaming.”
I wanted to believe him.
May you like
But mothers know when fear has entered a room.
So I ordered a small camera.
