When Three Babysitters Quit After Just One Day, I Knew Something Was Wrong – So I Set Up a Hidden Camera
After three babysitters quit within a day of starting, I couldn’t ignore it anymore—something was off. Desperate for answers, I installed a hidden nanny cam in the living room, and what I discovered left me speechless.
The morning began like any other. The sunlight streamed through the kitchen window as I wiped Max’s sticky hands and watched Lily poke at her cereal. But inside, I was boiling with frustration.
My phone buzzed, and I already knew what it was—another resignation. Megan, the sitter I’d hired just the day before, had messaged to quit. No explanation, just a polite goodbye. She had seemed perfect—sweet, reliable, and eager. What had changed overnight?
As I stared at the message, questions swirled in my mind. My kids were young—Lily is five, Max only two. They couldn’t tell me much. But I was running out of options. I couldn’t return to work without a trustworthy sitter, and every one of them was walking out after one shift.
Later, I vented to my friend Julie over coffee. “They just leave. No warning, no reason,” I said. Julie looked concerned. “Maybe it’s not the job,” she said gently. “Maybe it’s something—or someone—in the house.”
Her words hit me hard. My first thought was Dave—but I brushed it aside. Still, the doubt lingered.
That night, unable to sleep, I made up my mind. I retrieved our old nanny cam from Max’s closet and discreetly set it up in the living room. If something was happening when I wasn’t around, I needed to see it.
The next day, I hired a new sitter—Rachel, a bubbly college student who seemed great with the kids. I told her I was heading to work, then parked down the street and watched the live feed from my phone.
Everything looked fine—Rachel played with Max while Lily colored nearby. But I couldn’t shake the unease building in my chest.
Then, Dave came home early.
I watched as he casually greeted Rachel, then asked to speak with her privately. What he said next chilled me.
He told her I was suffering from postpartum depression. That things might get overwhelming. That if she wanted to leave, it was best to do it now—before it got “messy.” His tone wasn’t threatening exactly, but it was unnerving. Enough to send Rachel packing.
I was stunned. Dave had been sabotaging the sitters—lying, manipulating, pushing them away. All to keep me at home.
The next morning, I confronted him. “I saw the footage,” I told him. “Why would you lie to them? Why would you make me think it was my fault?”
He tried to justify it—said he thought I was better off at home, that he was protecting me. But all I heard was control.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” I said, voice shaking. “I love our kids. But I need to work. I need me.”
The silence that followed was heavy. I told him I needed time—to think, to breathe, to decide what’s next. I didn’t know where things would go from there, but I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t going to let someone else write my story anymore.
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